


Breaking the Divide

by Fatally_Procrastinating



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Demisexuality, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Lyrium Addiction, Mages and Templars, Redemption, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatally_Procrastinating/pseuds/Fatally_Procrastinating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow burn novelization of Inquisition with a heavy focus on the romance between Cullen Rutherford and Kaitlyn Trevelyan.<br/></p><hr/><p><i>Was</i> she pretty?<br/><br/>He rolled his eyes at the thought. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was a mage: an apostate, at that. Once the Breach was sealed and an Inquisitor chosen, he was certain she’d take her leave, perhaps going to join the other apostates at Redcliffe. Cullen closed his eyes, his mind slowly letting go of all the reports he’d read, of all the people they’d lost, of the pounding pain behind his eyes.<br/><br/>There were more important things to worry about than Kaitlyn Trevelyan.<br/><br/>CURRENTLY BEING RE-WRITTEN - REWRITE IS DONE AND AVAILABLE <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6006922/chapters/13794736">HERE</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The improved version is finished and can be read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6006922/chapters/13794736)

“How many men did we lose?” Cullen picked up the report, recognizing several of the names among the dead.

“Not as many as we could have,” Leliana said. “Our scouts were particularly fortunate that the prisoner insisted on going through the pass to get them.”

Josephine cleared her throat.

“Herald,” Leliana corrected with a sigh. “She should be with us shortly.”

Cullen blinked. “She?”

“You didn’t know?” Leliana asked. “I thought you’d checked on the prisoner earlier.”

“I sent several of the templars we have to check on him— _her_. I knew she was a mage but little else. When the reports returned with no sign of possession, it ceased to matter.”

“No curiosity?” Josephine asked. “I’ve already contacted the various branches of her family as well as the Circle to which she belonged.”

Cullen chuckled to himself. Of course she had. Give Josephine a stranger and she’d know who their best friends were before the day was done.

“Very well, then,” he said when the ambassador gained an excited gleam in her eye that demanded to be shared. “What should I know of her?”

“Lady Kaitlyn Trevelyan—though I suppose the Lady part is in name only—the oldest child by ten years, she has two twin brothers, Marcus and Anthony. Her parents sent her to the Ostwick Circle when she was—”

“Wait. They  _sent_ her there? Voluntarily?” It was uncommon for any family to simply hand over their child. For a noble family to do so—especially with a firstborn—was nearly unheard of.

Leliana spoke up. “That’s what her Grand Enchanter said in his letter. And yes,” she added when Cullen opened his mouth, “I had the source verified. The Herald was sent as his representative which is why he still lives.”

“Lucky for him,” Cullen muttered. Questions swirled on his tongue like ashes rises from a prodded fire. He sighed and let them fall when the doors of the war room opened with a loud creak. Setting the report down, he glanced up as Cassandra marched in with a woman at her side. The stranger had a straight nose, high cheeks, and skin that reminded him of the trees he’d used to climb as a child. Her brown hair was kept short, brushed away from her face. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. Yellow: a flaming gold that seemed to burn even as she looked at him. A thick, gnarled scar curled around her left eye and he wondered what could have caused such a deep wound.

“May I present Commander Cullen,” Cassandra said with a slight gesture of her hand, “leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley and I fear many more will join them before this is through.”

She gave him a slight nod as Cassandra introduced the others. Cullen watched her, assessing her. She was tall, even for a Free Marcher, and broad in the shoulders. She stood straight and looked each of them in the eye when she spoke. He smiled. Whatever else this woman was,  _coward_  didn’t rank among her list of attributes.

“… must approach the rebel mages for help.”

Cullen blinked at the sudden swerve of conversation, latching onto the argument he and the spymaster had been dancing around for days. “And I still disagree,” he said. “The templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander,” Cassandra’s voice carried a slight snarl. He knew she was as sick of this debate as he was. “Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interrupted.  

“ _I_ was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

He didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath across the table. Kaitlyn’s eyes had widened, her body stiffened, arms folding it tight against her side. Cullen faltered. That scar he had stared at: had a templar’s hand dealt the blow?

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” Josephine cut in with a stern look to the other three. “Neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition and you—” She inclined her head towards Kaitlyn who merely blinked, “Specifically.”

Kaitlyn snorted. “That didn’t take long.”

Cullen’s frustration came out as a growl. “Shouldn’t they be arguing over who’ll become the next Divine?” At every turn, for every question, the Chantry blocked them. Both the Right and Left hands of the Divine served under this cause and still the Chantry blocked them. The sky was tearing itself to pieces as civil war threatened to rip apart Orlais and  _still_ the Chantry blocked them.

Josephine ignored him as she said, “Some are calling you— _a mage_ —the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. For harboring you, we’ve been labeled as heretics which makes approaching either the mages or the templars out of the question.”

“Wait.” Kaitlyn held up a hand, eyes shifting between the four of them. “Can we go back to the part about me being sent by Andraste? When was that decided?”

Cullen bit back a smirk at the snap in her tone. His gaze dropped towards the table as Cassandra and Leliana spoke. Kaitlyn’s hands were shaking. No, not just her hands. Her entire body trembled. There were other signs too. The rapid, shallow rise and fall of her chest. The way her eyes never stayed on one of them too long. How had he missed that?

She was terrified.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his hand away from the pommel of his blade. “That’s quite the title, isn’t it?” he asked, wanting to ease away from the impending doom she was being asked to face. “How do you feel about it?”

“I wish it belonged to someone else.”

“I’m sure the Chantry shares that wish.” Cullen watched Kaitlyn from the corner of his eye as the conversation continued between the others. Barely awake an hour and they were already giving her assignments to complete. He studied her reactions, curious to how she would respond. Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, especially himself—they were all here by choice. But this woman: she had no such luxury.

“Our scouts have already mapped out the area,” Leliana said, pointing to the Hinterlands on the map. “Harding has gone on ahead and waits for your arrival. We’ve horses and provisions already prepared for your travels.”

“When you’re ready, of course,” Josephine added.

“Herald,” Cullen called to Kaitlyn when she started to leave. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Now?” She blinked, gaze trailing after the others as they left.

“Later would be fine if that’s best for you.”

“I… now works.” She stepped closer to the table, her fingers threading together. “Is this about the templars?”

“Yes. I understand why your initial reaction would be to go to the mages but they’re a chaotic force at the moment. People fear the damage the rebellion brought. And yes,” he added quickly when she opened her mouth, brow creasing with the start of her objection, “I’m aware that the templars are just as responsible for the horrible loss of life we’ve seen. I’m not denying that. But as far as we can tell, it was magic that caused the Breach. I fear that more magic will only make our situation that much dire.”

“And you believe that templars would be able to weaken it, yes? Is that  _truly_ how you feel, Commander, or are you merely running away from the thought of being surrounded by so many uncaged mages?”

Cullen’s jaw clenched at the question. He’d feared this might happen the moment Leliana’s first report on their prisoner crossed his eyes. A mage Herald. This was going to be lovely.

“It  _is_ what I truly believe, Herald. I won’t lie: my own experiences have taught me all too well that mages are capable of great destruction. I don’t want to put you or anyone into a cage, as you put it, but it’d be foolish to leave mages completely unchecked. For the mages’ benefit as well. Or have you been fortunate enough to live without seeing an Abomination?”

Kaitlyn faltered, her mouth slightly ajar.

“Forgive me,” Cullen said. Had he already gone too far? He winced at the sharp ache behind his eyes. He should’ve asked to speak later when the dull ache of lyrium’s call wasn’t pounding at his head. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Herald, it’s… it’s been a long day for all of us.”

Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “It takes more than that to  _offend_ me, Commander.” She turned to leave, then paused. “Can I get your honest answer on something?”

“Of course.”

“With everything that’s going on: a hole in the sky, demons pouring out everything, the Chantry even more divided than usual—you believe this Inquisition can make a difference?”

“Without question. I won’t say that I’m glad the Chantry declared us as heretics, but this path that we’re on isn’t utterly without hope. Not yet, at any rate. We have the power and the ability to act where others cannot. With that mark on your hand, we have a true chance at setting things right again and close the Breach. No, more than that. We could finally take a stand in a world rife with chaos. Our followers would be a part of that,  _you_ would be a part of that. There’s so much we could—” Cullen cleared his throat, his cheeks beginning to warm. He was getting too caught up in his own thoughts again.

“Forgive me,” he murmured again. “My words seem to be running ahead of me today.”

“It’s all right. I… It’s a nice change to see a templar being passionate. The ones at my Circle seemed as emotional as rocks most days.”

“An occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” He smiled when he looked at her hands: they weren’t shaking anymore. “Considering what we must do should a crisis arise—emotional distance is often better for everyone involved.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes narrowed before she gave him a slight nod. “I can understand that.”

Cullen stepped around the table, still assessing her. She kept a set space between them, but her eyes were soft and open. That was a relief, at least. Enough of the other mages hated him on principle already. “May I ask  _you_  a question, Herald?”

“If you want to.” She laughed. “Though considering the way that woman looked at me—Lil… Lel…”

“Leliana.”

“Yes. I felt as though she knew more about me than I did.”

“It’s quite possible. In the short time I’ve known her, I believe she’s found out everything about me. Except, perhaps, my favorite color.”

Kaitlyn glanced to his mantle, a smile easing across her face. “Red?”

“Blue, actually. Though that information is to be kept strictly a secret.”

“My lips are sealed, Commander. Was that your question? Trying to find out my favorite color before your spymaster beats you to it?”

“No. I was…” Was it too much to ask? To be sent in the place of her Grand Enchanter, she had to be a mage of great skill. One who carried the confidence of her Circle. “I know that you’re from Ostwick. How is it, for you? Being away, I mean.”

Her brow drew in as she considered the question. She stared at the map, eyes falling on where her Circle would’ve been. At last, she answered, “I guess it hasn’t sunk in yet. I don’t feel like I’m actually out of the Circle’s grasp. There are still templars here, glaring at every mage who passes by. Chantry sisters whispering behind my back. People watching every move I make. The faces are different but everything else is the same.” She met his eye. Blinking, red spread across her cheeks as she turned away. 

“I’m sorry, Commander. It seems as though my words have gone ahead of me as well.” Turning on her heel, she marched away before he could call her back. 

* * *

“She’s rather pretty, don’t you think?” Leliana stretched out on her bed, fingers running absently over the instrument she kept on her nightstand though she never once plucked a note.

“Who’s that?” Josephine asked as she crawled between her sheets, her ruffled nightgown nearly bouncing with her movements.

Cullen flushed, averting his gaze from the two women. The pair had insisted that they share the room with him since the Herald was now sleeping in the cabin that had once been his. With every cot and bedroll claimed, he was in no position to refuse. They’d been kind, making no comment on his tendency to speak in his sleep, but he still felt like an intruder—a barely tolerated guest who was only permitted to stay because his hosts didn’t want to appear rude.

“Kaitlyn.” The name was almost a hum on Leliana’s lips. “She surprised me with how quickly she was willing to depart for Mother Giselle.”

“You think she’ll try to escape?” Cullen asked.

“Unlikely. She’s been cooperative so far. And even if she did try, it would be the briefest escape attempt in history.  _Cassandra’s_  with her, remember?”

He smirked, resting back into his bed. He’d forgotten to change the bedding that morning and his sweat from the night before made the sheets crinkle under his weight.

“But you didn’t answer my question, Josie.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you think she was pretty?”

“Her skin was certainly nice, though I wish she’d let me do something with that hair.” Josephine sighed. “Such a simple style. I do hope she’ll let me change it once we have nobles start to join us.”

“And you, Commander?”

“What?” He blinked, surprised to be drawn into the conversation.

“Kaitlyn,” Leliana said, a smirk growing on her lips. “You kept her behind to talk and she was there with you for quite some time. Was there perhaps something between the two of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cullen shifted to place his back to them, merely wanting to sink into sleep.

A pillow hit the back of his head.

“Come now,” Josephine tsked softly. “You could at least answer the question before ignoring us.”

“To be completely honest, I hadn’t particularly noticed.” He reached around and snatched the offending pillow, tucking it up with his own, smirking to himself when Josephine pouted over losing the cushion. “She seemed… fine enough, I suppose.”

Leliana groaned. “You’re  _terrible_ at this.”

“That’s very true.” Cullen smirked when the two women fell into whispered conversations. He stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows flickering in the faint candlelight.  _Was_ she pretty?

He rolled his eyes at the thought. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was a mage: an apostate, at that. Once the Breach had been sealed and an Inquisitor chosen, he was certain she’d take her leave, perhaps going to join the other apostates at Redcliffe. Cullen closed his eyes, his mind slowing letting go of all the reports he’d read, all the people they’d lost, the pounding pain behind his eyes.

There were more important things to worry about than Kaitlyn Trevelyan.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bear pelts?”

“Yes, ser,” the scout said. “A whole stack of them.”

Cullen glanced over the report passed on from Leliana. Elfroot, iron, logging sites, near a dozen recruits for the Inquisition including several mage healers, Mother Giselle, a promise of horses, and dozens of bear pelts.

“Are there any of the poor creatures left in the Hinterlands?” Cullen asked.

The man chuckled as he took the report back. “The Herald is using the meat and skins to help the refugees. Mother Giselle feared that they wouldn’t make it through the winter without help, but the Lady Herald is bringing in supplies by the crate. Even got the cult up in the mountains to lend food and aid.”

Cullen smiled to himself. When Kaitlyn and the others had departed, he’d expected her to return a few days later with the task accomplished, eager to press on and be free of the Inquisition she’d been coerced into. But _this_. Tending the sick, gathering food, arranging for safe passage, clearing out the rogue elements—”How are the people responding to her?”

“Better now. They were nervous at first, thought she was part of the rebellion and that she’d come to attack. Now, I don’t think they’ll ever stop talking about her.”

“Yes,” Leliana said, coming up behind the scout before dismissing him. “It’s all very heartwarming.”

“You disapprove?” Cullen asked.

“We have Mother Giselle en route from the camp. Things have been calmed; we should be focusing on the next task, not wasting time hunting down every bear wandering the mountains.”

“You could ask Cassandra to prod her along.”

Leliana pursed her lips as she glared down at the war table. “Cassandra is… encouraging the behavior. She says it’s helping the Herald get used to fighting in a group of non-mages.” The spymaster waved her hand as though she thought such things ridiculous. Staring at the map, she picked up three of Cullen’s markers and placed them in varying locations.

“For Master Dennet,” she explained. Cullen frowned as Josephine joined them, leaning over the board in her arms until her nose hovered mere inches from the surface. 

“And the Herald chose _my_ suggestion?” Cullen asked.

“Yes,” Josephine said, voice somewhat clipped. “Though I still think it would’ve been easier merely to give the neighboring nobles a favor in exchange.”

Leliana caught Cullen’s eye and smirked. “No need to look so smug, Commander.”

“What?” He blinked, the grin falling from his face.

She moved several other markers around on the map and Cullen could nearly hear her eyes rolling as she did so. “How much did you wager Varric that Kaitlyn would choose you for the mission?”

“I would never—”

“ _How much?_ ”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Just a few silvers.”

“Try not to hold it over him for _too_ long,” Leliana said, the corner of her mouth turning up with a faint smile.

“I make no promises.” He leaned over, watching as Josephine and Leliana checked off their lists, moving the markers around to show their progress. Two weeks had brought about more change than he’d expected: interest from nobles, a lyrium supplier, patrons with deep pockets. It _almost_ outweighed the bickering and sneering that poured in daily from the Chantry and the living embodiment of stubborn pride: Chancellor Roderick.

“What about Trevelyan’s family?” He came around to Josephine’s marker that rested on the edge of the Free Marches. “I thought you’d heard back from them already.”

“I did,” Josephine said. She set down her quill and pinched the bridge of her nose. “The Herald made it very clear that she wanted no communication with her family. Even _if_ that family promises riches and connections that we desperately need.” The last part came out as a grumble under the woman’s breath.

“Made it clear?” Cullen asked. “How?”

Josephine sighed. “I believe her exact phrase was ‘I’d rather be eaten alive by a horde of toothless nugs.’ Or something equally quaint.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?” he asked. “At the rate we’re growing, I doubt a single noble family will make a difference.”

Josephine’s shocked expression would’ve shamed a woman who’d just discovered her child was missing. “ _No difference?_ ” Her scoff was haughty and filled with a soft kind of rage he’d only seen in her when she was truly angered. “A single family, a single _name_ can tip the balance of empires, Commander. I know that it means very little to you: that you’d rather help the refugees than the noble whose lands they live on, but trust me when I say that we need every alliance we can get.”

“My apologies,” Cullen said hastily, adding in a slight bow to show his sincerity. “I merely thought… never mind.” She was right. He knew Josephine was right—she always was with such matters—but it still felt rather unfair to press this on the Herald: another burden she had no choice but to bear. He changed the topic. “Do you know when the Herald’s party is set to return?”

“Mother Giselle should be here before nightfall,” Leliana said. “Our scouts are escorting her through the final leagues. As for Trevelyan…” She placed her hands flat on the table, shoulders sinking when she let out a deep breath. “That is harder to determine. I sent another missive to Cassandra this morning asking her to speed things along, though at the rate the Herald is going, I doubt there will be anything left for them in the Hinterlands by the time the week is through.”

She shifted another marker. “We should focus on other matters in the meantime. Redcliffe remains closed to all outsiders at present and there are rumors coming out of Val Royeaux.”

“More than usual?” Josephine asked with a laugh.

Cullen rubbed his forehead. Chancellor Roderick was reminder enough of the Chantry’s standpoint on the Inquisition. He didn’t think he’d be able to cope with an entire square full of people like him. “Let them speak: all they have is words.”

“Words can still bury us, Commander,” Josephine said. “Having the Herald address them in person after she returns might not be a bad idea.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen protested. “That’s like leading her to the edge of a cliff and asking our enemies not to shove her off.”

Josephine pressed on. “The Chantry’s only strength at the moment is that they are united in opinion. If we could get them to split, or even have a handful of them come over to our side then—”

“It won’t matter if one of them manages to kill the Herald in the meantime,” Leliana said. Cullen nodded in agreement and the ambassador merely sighed.

“Then we’ll let the Herald decide for herself once she’s returned. Agreed?”

Cullen and Leliana mumbled their consent. Cullen stayed back to stare at the map well after the other two had left. He made a mental note of where he was to send his forces, already deciding which men would be best suited for each task.

Could they really pull this off?

_You believe this Inquisition can make a difference?_

He’d believed it so strongly when she’d asked. Without question. Yes, they were going to make a difference. They were going to—Cullen winced at the dull tug of pain and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. He groaned, half-falling onto the table when the pain sharpened. The lyrium in his blood sang. It cried for more, his body begging him to give into the need for that power he’d known for so long.

Cullen’s eye drifted to one of the shelves. On it sat a batch of lyrium for the mages and templars already stationed around Haven. He licked his lips. His fingers twitched with the desire to uncork one of the bottles, to feel the calming tingle as the lyrium slid down his throat. He’d feel better; he’d _be_ better.

He stepped towards the case.

“No!”

Hands shaking, he tore from the room at a march, plowing through small clusters of people until he was outside with the training recruits. Panting softly, he leaned against the nearby wall, eyes clenching against the brightness of the sun. He wished Cassandra were here. He needed someone to talk to—someone who understood what was happening to him.

The twitching of his hands faded to a slight tremor as he sucked in the cold mountain air with deep breaths. He would make it through this. The Inquisition would make it through this.

There was no other choice.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn scowled as she shifted on her mount for the hundredth time since noon. She’d hardly seen a horse in the Circle, let alone _rode_ one. The constant bumping, rubbing, wearing: her thighs itched and burned, and the ointment Cassandra had given her did little to help. She fell behind another few horses as she adjusted herself again.

“Here to keep me company?”

She smiled at Varric, easing her horse over to his. Despite the relaxed posture and easy smile, his eyes twitched at every sudden jolt and sharp turn. “If you’ll have me.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Kaitlyn chuckled at his over the top wink. “Do you think it’ll be much longer till we reach Haven?”

“See the way Seeker keeps fidgeting like that? Like she’s checking behind every rock and piece of shrubbery for bandits? Or how she winds the reins in her hand before shaking them loose. She only does stuff like that when we’re close to reaching our destination. I suspect we’ll be able to see Haven any minute now.”

“You watch her often?”

Varric’s body shook with his laugh. “It’s nothing like _that_. How a person moves can tell you a lot about them. I like to watch people sometimes. Get to know them long before they ever open their mouths. And when it comes to the Seeker,” he trailed off with a deep sigh, “I’ve had enough up-close observation with her to last a lifetime.”

Kaitlyn glanced to Cassandra, smiling when she saw the warrior winding the leather strap tight around her palm before letting it go lax again. She and Varric had been exchanging quips and snaps at each other since the moment they’d left Haven.

“Could I…” She trailed off as her cheeks began to warm, feeling like a young girl with her first crush. “Varric, um… it wouldn’t be strange if I asked about Hawke, would it?”

“So long as it’s _just_ asking.” He shot another glare at the back of Cassandra’s head. “And _yes_ , before you start, Orsino really did turn into a giant abomination at the end. I may have taken the occasional creative license in my story, but _that_ part really happened.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” She tightened her grip on the reins, butterflies nipping at her stomach. “The thing is… I was wondering if maybe you had a copy I could borrow. My Circle never added it to their library; something about a mage with a powerful title in a powerful city didn’t seem to sit well with the templars.”

Varric snorted. “Can’t imagine why. A mage leading a rebellion that eventually defeats a Knight-Commander as her own templars turn against her. Why _wouldn’t_ every Circle want to have a book like that?”

“Exactly.” She laughed, the tension easing from her white-knuckles hands. “The thing is: I found a copy in Haven, but it looked like someone had stabbed it a few times? I was wondering if—”

Varric pulled on the reins, forcing his horse to stop. Kaitlyn blinked at the sudden change, fearing she’d said something wrong. “Did I…” She moved closer, head tilting to the side. He wasn’t angry. He was _laughing_. Tight-lipped, red-faced, hand over his mouth to keep the sound in _laughing_. “What did I say?”

He shook his head.

“Varric?”

Another shake.

Kaitlyn scoffed, turning to leave when he called her back.

“Wait, I—” He wiped away a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. “Andraste bless her, I _knew_ she’d held onto that copy. Hawke’s going to owe me fifteen sovereigns over this.”

She arched an eyebrow at the excitement bubbling in Varric’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t know where Hawke was.”

The color drained from Varric’s face as he stared at her. “I don’t. Not at this _exact_ moment.” He pulled up to her side, gaze flicking to the front where Cassandra and Master Dennet were leading the horses. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

Kaitlyn smirked, urging her horse forward before she and Varric fell too far behind. “That depends. Do you have a copy of the book I can read?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to scrounge up a copy for the infamous Herald of Andraste.”

She stared down at her lap when he used the title. Most of the time, the words fell over her like rain—fleeting, insignificant. On Varric’s tongue, the title felt like tidal wave crashing down with the promise to drown her. She didn’t want to be the Herald of anyone, let alone Herald to the bride of the Maker. She didn’t want to be Lady Trevelyan. She didn’t even want to be a mage. She wanted to be Kaitlyn. Just once.

“You all right?”

Kaitlyn blinked at the question. “Yeah, I’m… tired. Good, but tired.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. After all that weird shit you’ve been put through? ‘Barely holding it together’ seems more appropriate.”

“Thanks, Varric. And here I was trying _not_ to wallow in self-pity for the next few hours.”

“All part of my charm.” He winked again and she couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you two doing back there?” Cassandra called out.

“Nothing important, Seeker,” Varric said. “Just the usual: plotting the downfall of man so that the Dwarves and Elves can take their rightful place as Thedas’ overlords.”

Solas pressed a few slender fingers to his mouth, lips curling with a suppressed smile as Cassandra rolled her eyes with a blunt noise of disgust.

“At least someone thinks I’m funny,” Varric muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn wanted to cry when her feet hit solid ground. Her legs felt bowed and tight and she wobbled on her first step away from the stables.

“You need to practice riding more,” Cassandra said as she hooked an arm around Kaitlyn’s middle. “It’ll cut down on traveling time between missions as well. Less of that pointless running away.”

“It’s not _my_ fault that they don’t teach horseback riding at the Circle.”

The Seeker pursed her lips and Kaitlyn mumbled an apology. Herald or not, it had only been a few weeks since Kaitlyn was on her knees, this woman’s sword pressed against her throat.

“I’ll add it to my list of things to learn,” Kaitlyn said. “At the top of the list,” she added when Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.

The Seeker left her at the gates, mentioning the need to discuss something with the soldiers. Limping inside, Kaitlyn stretched out her legs and hips with every step and wondered if this was what demons felt like possessing a body for the first time: stubborn limbs and sore skin stretching over an aching back.

“ _Your kind killed the Most Holy!_ ”

Kaitlyn grimaced when she forced her body to scale the final flight of steps towards the Chantry.

“Lies!” A mage yelled, glaring at the templar across from him. “It was your kind who let her die!”

The growing crowd clustered around the pair, splitting in a clear divide between mage and templar. Lightning crackled across closed fists. The familiar blue glow filled several of the templars’ eyes as they prepared to subdue the apostates. Even the Chantry sisters took opposing sides of the debate.

“Shut your mouth, mage, or I’ll shut it for you.”

Kaitlyn ran forward, fists tightening along with her chest. Didn’t they realize that they had to let go of the past? Didn’t they understand that the divide between mages and templars had already been broken?

“Enough!”

Kaitlyn’s mouth hung open. She blinked. Standing at the inner ring of the crowd, a mere arm’s length away from the snarling pair, the word hadn’t come from her, but Cullen.

The Commander barreled through, pushing the mage and templar apart. He kept his hand to the templars chest; a silent threat.

“Knight-Captain, I—”

Cullen reared on him. “That is not my title. We are _not_ templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition.” His eyes swept across the gathered group to make it clear that no one could escape his words. Her heart swelled when his gaze lingered on her for a brief moment. It was a silly thing, perhaps; small and insignificant for certain, but he’d turned his back on the mages. He’d exposed his back with no shield or weapon to protect him, turning to glare at those who had once served in his beloved Order.

Maybe there was hope for the Commander yet.

A reedy voice from the background snapped Kaitlyn back to the present. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“Back already, Chancellor?” Cullen’s face soured with a scowl. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I was curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.” His voice rose as he spoke in an obvious attempt to force the attention on himself.

Cullen’s lip turned up in disgust. “Of course you are.” Turning to the others, he dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand. “Back to your duties, all of you!”

The single gesture caused the group to splinter. Sisters drifted to their spots around the camp, Templars resumed their positions around the perimeter with the rest of the soldiers. Even the mages departed in silence, returning to the healers’ tent and apothecary.

Kaitlyn stepped closer and Cullen gave her a brief nod before returning to his conversation. “You can moan and gripe all you like about the situation, but mages and templars were already at war long before the Inquisition came to be.”

“Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order.”

“And who would you have that be? _You?_ ” Cullen scoffed and Kaitlyn smirked at how freely he defied the Chancellor. “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

“And you would rather have this rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’ take charge?” Roderick shot her a glare, face twisting with his sneer. She could see the message in his eyes: mage, apostate, filth. “ _I think not._ ”

“Of course you should be in charge, Chancellor,” Kaitlyn said.

Cullen’s eyes widened as he took a half-step towards her, a touch of panic leaking into his expression.

She continued, “First, you’ll need to find a way to close the Breach. So far, I’m the only one who can seem to close these annoying rifts. Perhaps you saw one of them from your padded carriage as you arrived? I hear they’re popping up absolutely everywhere. So you’ll have to take care of that first. Then you’ll need to arrange for transportation, food, clothing, weapons, mounts, and general supplies for every member under your care—you’ll also have to pay for all of it. And most importantly, you’ll have to make sure that none of the mages or templars kill any of the others; you wouldn’t want _another_ war to break out on your hands right here in Haven and—”

“I get your point,” Roderick hissed through clenched teeth.

Kaitlyn forced a smile, making her voice sweeter than honey as she asked Cullen, “Please remind me why we’ve allowed our illustrious guest to stay?”

“Clearly your _templar_ knows where to draw the line.” Roderick’s head nearly snapped as he gave them what barely passed for a bow before huffing off at a march.

“He’s toothless,” Cullen snarled. He winced slightly and she wondered if it was from Roderick’s tone behind the world ‘templar.’ Unlikely. Cullen seemed too disciplined to let personal comments like that bother him. “There’s no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

Cullen blinked then turned to her as though he was realizing she was there for the first time in the conversation. “You’re back.”

“Is that just becoming obvious now?”

“No. Yes. I—I mean.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a half-second before he straightened. “Leliana, Josephine, and I were discussing what our next move would be. Josephine thinks it would be help things along if you went to Val Royeaux yourself to meet with the other clerics in person.”

“In person? As in, personally meet with people who’d burn me faster than Maferath turned on Andraste?”

“…yes.”

She straightened when he held her gaze. “You’re not joking.”

“I wish I were.”

Kaitlyn sighed while she buried her face in her hands. “This isn’t ever going to get easier, is it?” She looked up in time to see his arm stretched out towards her. He cleared his throat, hand diverting up to his neck.

“No, it’s not,” he said. “But for now, let’s focus on closing the Breach.” He gestured towards the Chantry doors, letting her walk ahead of him. “Have you decided who you want to go to for aid?”

She pursed her lips, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. She waited until she stood with the other advisors, door shut behind them before answering, “I’ll talk to the templars only if the mages turn us down.”

The muscles in Cullen’s jaw flexed and the hand beside his pommel tightened into a fist before his body relaxed with a heavy sigh. “I understand,” he said through clenched teeth. “I suppose I should be used to mages disliking templars on principle, considering all that’s happened.”

Leliana’s chuckle cut off Kaitlyn’s response. “From what I’ve heard, the Herald doesn’t have that _particular_ problem.”

“I—” Kaitlyn flushed before rounding on Josephine. “You _told_ her?”

The woman retreated behind her board even as a smile curled her lips. “Forgive me. I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“It’s no matter,” Leliana said with a wave of her hand. “I would’ve found out eventually.”

“What’s a secret?” Cullen asked.

“Nothing!” Kaitlyn said before either of the other women could respond. Her cheeks warmed under their smirks. She should never have said anything about Andrew. She’d endured enough teasing at the Circle over her ill-guided infatuation, she didn’t need it here too. Cullen stared at her, eyebrow raised in question.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” she repeated, knowing her cheeks were bright red from the way her skin burned. Snatching up the iron marker from the Hinterlands which was used to display her party’s location, Kaitlyn slammed it down onto Val Royeaux with enough force to send the other pieces toppling. “I’ll leave immediately.”

“Wait—what?” Leliana stayed on her as Kaitlyn stomped from the room. Cullen’s laughter was echoing off the walls behind her.

“You said it was urgent, didn’t you? Your letters kept telling me to go faster. So this is me, going faster.”

“But there’s news of a Warden in Hinterlands, and we had a young man here earlier about mercenaries on the coast, and—”

“Yes to all of it,” Kaitlyn said.

“ _Herald!_ ”

Kaitlyn spun on her heel, continuing to back towards the door. “We’re not in a position to turn away allies. Write everything down and I’ll get it done.”

“But Herald, I need to—”

“I’ll get it done, Leliana.” Kaitlyn grinned despite the growing knots of fear in her heart. Her body ached and screamed in protest with every step. The mere thought of riding for days on end made her legs tremble in dread. But it would be worth it. They’d get the mages, seal the Breach—let the others figure out what happened to the Divine. She wanted no part of it. She wanted freedom; true freedom for the first time in her life. No family, no templars, no Seekers—just her.

_Maker, preserve me._


	3. Chapter 3

Kaitlyn pressed her nose up against the glass until it hurt.

Sweet buns, little cakes, and decorated pastries sat in neat piles inside the shop. Her mouth watered as she stared at them, wondering if they’d taste half as good as they appeared.

“Herald,” Cassandra called, voice sharp and strained, “The mothers will be _waiting_ for us.”

“Along with a bunch of templars, apparently,” Varric added under his breath.

“I still cannot believe it. I _know_ Lord Seeker Lucius. I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that’s occurred.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kaitlyn said, fighting off her pout as she finally pulled herself away from the lure of chocolate. “I doubt he was thrilled to hear that the Inquisition had named a mage as the Herald of Andraste.”

“Even so,” Cassandra said, “to say that they are protecting people from us. _We_ are the only ones trying to close the Breach!”

Varric put a hand on Cassandra’s arm when she her hands tightened into fists. “I think she knows that, Seeker.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Cassandra snapped. “But you can—”

“ _Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!_ ”

Kaitlyn walked around the pair of them and into the main square where nobles and commoners from all over the city were gathering. The woman who’d spoke was dressed in traditional Chantry robes, her head piously covered as she preached to the mixed crowd. The woman’s worn eyes flicked to Kaitlyn’s face and a ghost of a sneer pulled her lips. “Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more. Behold—” She threw out her arm in Kaitlyn’s direction, her sneer no longer subtle. “The so-called Herald of Andraste. Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no _mage_ in our hour of need!”

Kaitlyn glared up at her, feeling the chill of frost begin to build between her fingers. How dare she. How _dare_ she! Standing there above the rest as though she was better, preaching about things she didn’t understand to people she cared nothing about. Any member of the Chantry who turned their backs on those in need had no right to wear those robes.

“Easy there,” Varric muttered at Kaitlyn’s side.

“Do not give into anger,” Solas said. “Do not give them more reason to denounce you.”

“I know that,” Kaitlyn growled through clenched teeth. Tightening her fists, she clenched them until she feared her fingers might freeze. With a haggard sigh, she released her rage, shards of ice falling to the ground beside her feet. She stepped forward and addressed the crowd instead.

“Believe whatever you want about me. That’s not why I’m here. That’s not why the _Inquisition_ is here. The sky is torn apart; you’ve seen it, we’ve all seen it. I’m not here to be your prophet. I’m not here to tell you the will of Andraste. I’m here to ask for your help before the Breach dooms us all.”

“It’s true!” Cassandra rushed forward, eyes shifting between faces and masks as she spoke. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“It is already too late,” the mother spat. “The templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe from your lies once more.”

The templar behind the woman puffed out his chest, his green eyes nearly glowing with pride at her words.

“Lord Seeker,” Cassandra whispered under her breath as a set of men dressed in full Templar armor marched onto the dais. Lucius glanced the mother over once before passing by. The mother took a single step towards him before she crashed onto her knees. The man behind her shook out his fist, fingers running over the knuckles that had smashed into her head.

“What are you—”

Solas caught Kaitlyn’s arm as she lurched forward, stopping her with a swift shake of his head. He was right; she knew it. Attacking a group of templars in the middle of the square would confirm everything the people believed about the Inquisition, everything they believed about mages, everything they believed about _her_. Kaitlyn stood by and watched. And she hated herself for it.

“Still yourself,” Lucius said to the green-eyed templar as he stared at the felled mother, shock clear in his eyes. “She is beneath us.”

“You have no right to do this!” Kaitlyn hissed at him.

“I am the only one with any ‘right’ here. _You_ are the imposter. And you,” his cold eyes fell on Cassandra. “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. _You_ are the ones who have failed.”

“Purge mages?” Kaitlyn scoffed. “Is that all we are to you now? Some disease meant to be burned away.” The templar behind the Lord Seeker turned to her, the doubt deepening in his face. Kaitlyn pressed on. “The templars were created to protect mages. I know that some of you must still believe that or you never would’ve sworn your lives to the Order. One of your own commands the Inquisition’s forces. When the time came to act, he joined our cause and believes it more than anyone else I know. Join us now, as he did. Mages and templars need to stop this war before the world crumbles around us. As a _mage_ , I am asking you for your help.”

The green-eyed man stepped forward. Lucius flung an arm in his path.

“It is _because_ you are a mage that your ties are worthless,” Lucius said, the contempt in his voice a nearly tangible thing. “This templar you speak of is a traitor just by being in your company.”

“But Lord Seeker,” the templar said, “what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if—?”

The man who’d punched the mother stalked up to him, shutting his doubting words off with a hard glare and a snarl. “You are called to a higher purpose. It is not your place to question.”

Lucius’s gaze turned to Kaitlyn and she struggled not to shudder in disgust. “You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition—less than nothing. Templars, Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

Kaitlyn caught the attention of the green-eyed templar and shook her head, silently pleading for him to step apart from them. If they could return to Haven with just one—one single templar to show that there could be peace between the two factions. She groaned when he turned away to follow after the others.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric said under his breath.

“I don’t understand it.” Cassandra sat down on the nearby steps, her eyes focused on some far-off point. “He must be mad. Lord Seeker would never… he would _never_ … There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become. I cannot be alone in this.”

Kaitlyn left Cassandra and Varric, their voices joining the twittering and buzzing of the crowd. No one stepped forward to help the woman curled on the ground. No one spoke out against the templars and their confession of ‘purging’ mages. Disappointment swelled in her chest as she walked onto the dais. For years, she’d wanted to be free of the Circle, to be free of everyone who thought they had a right to control her, but the First Enchanter had been right—things weren’t any better on the outside.

“Don’t touch me,” the woman hissed when Kaitlyn knelt before her.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” She reached out, hand glowing green as magic flowed between her fingers. “I want to help.”

“Why… why would _you_ …?”

Kaitlyn pressed her hand gently to the back of the woman’s neck, concentrating as the magic sought out the injuries. “Why not?” she asked. “I’m not the monster that you fear me to be. I’m just trying to help; to keep things from getting worse.” Energy drained from her, leaving her limbs weary as her magic healed the mother. She started to pull away and a bony hand latched around her wrist.

“Do you—” the woman swallowed hard, eyes laced with fear. “Do _you_ believe that you were sent by Andraste?”

Kaitlyn stuttered as she considered the question. Herald of Andraste. The title seeped through her skin and made her chest tight. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “It’s possible, but I… I just don’t know.”

“Thank you.” The grip fell from Kaitlyn’s wrist. “That is more comforting than you realize.”

Kaitlyn stared at her, at all of them—their words of hate sizzled and died in the air as fear and doubt claimed their hearts. “You can still help us. It’s not too late. The Inquisition only means to help bring peace to the chaos.”

“You don’t know what you ask, Herald. Without the templars, we… you don’t know what you ask.”

Solas stepped up to Kaitlyn, fingers brushing along her elbow to claim her attention. “Perhaps we should take our leave. Our purpose here is finished.”

“Actually,” a woman said as she separated from the dissipating crowd, “I was wondering if _I_ might have a moment of your time?” The elven woman was petite with pale skin and even paler eyes. When she tilted her head forward in a subtle bow, her black hair fell across her face.

“I didn’t expect to see the Grand Enchanter here.” Kaitlyn returned the bow, her palms growing slick. She’d heard tales of the former Grey Warden through the other mages. The only one known to have defeated the taint within themselves. An elf who rose through the ranks and earned the respect of nearly every Circle throughout Thedas. To actually see Fiona standing before her—Kaitlyn hoped her heart would stop pounding before the woman noticed.

“Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” Solas asked.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.” Fiona’s expression softened as her gaze swept over Kaitlyn. “If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.”

“I tried. I—I mean I wanted to. No one in Redcliffe would let us in and all of our messengers were turned away. Believe me, the mages were— _are_ —my first choice.” The hairs on the back of Kaitlyn’s neck pricked when she felt Cassandra’s glare.

“We’re willing now,” Fiona said with a soft smile. “That’s the important thing. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. An alliance could help us both, after all. But as you said, it is somewhat dangerous for me to be here. And so, I take my leave. Au revoir, my lady Herald.”

Kaitlyn’s bow felt stiff and awkward as the mage left as quietly as she’d arrived.

“I would still prefer to seek out the templars,” Cassandra said. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember. There must be those among the Order who see that.”

“Can’t we at least find out what the mages want before writing them off?”

“No doubt what they’ve always wanted: support for their cause.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Kaitlyn asked. She turned to the Seeker, fear trickling down her spine. Cassandra was kind at heart, Kaitlyn had witnessed it first hand, but Cassandra could still make Kaitlyn scream and writhe in pain at her slightest whim. “Is it so terrible that they want to be free?”

The Seeker pursed her lips and turned away, a ghost of color sweeping across her cheeks. She didn’t answer.

“Well,” Varric said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but that was more than enough excitement for this dwarf. Can we go now?”

“Not yet,” Kaitlyn said. “How much coin can we spare?”

“We have several sovereigns leftover.” Cassandra took the money pouch from her belt and shook it until a small handful of gold coins spilled into her palm.

Kaitlyn grinned when the Seeker handed her half of the pile.

“Got something fun in mind?” Varric asked.

“I’ve seen several staffs that are almost worth the coin asked for them,” Solas said.

“Something much better,” Kaitlyn said, already striding ahead of them, barely listening to their conversation.

Varric chuckled. “Could I use the rest of that for—”

“No,” Cassandra said sharply.

“But Bianca needs an upgraded—”

“I said no.”

Varric scoffed. “It’s not _my_ fault that I’m not the Herald.”

“I’ll tell you what, Varric,” Cassandra’s sharp tone made Kaitlyn wince even as she sidled up to stare at the pastries once more. “If _you_ ever walk in and out of the Fade unharmed, I will buy Bianca whatever upgrades she needs myself.”

“Is that a wager, Seeker?”

“A wager implies risk. This is a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Kaitlyn laughed under her breath at the pair of them before she stepped inside the shop, setting down the entire sum Cassandra had given her. “I want everything.”

 

* * *

 

 

 “Who was that last one again?”

“A mistress Sera, ser.”

“And the Herald recruited her?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You’re absolutely certain of that?”

“Yes, ser: I have the missive here if you’d like to see it.”

“That’s fine. You’re dismissed.”

“Ser!”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to make sense of the people who had joined in Kaitlyn’s absence. A former Grand Enchanter who actually appreciated templars, a Warden who had exiled himself to the farthest reaches of camp on arrival, a mercenary Qunari who had already admitted to being a spy, and now an elf who seemed fascinated by drawing obscene little pictures on all of the statues and carvings around Haven.

“Do you have room for more bad news?” Leliana asked as she came up beside the table.

“Worse than what we’re already dealing with?”

“The Inquisition received a formal letter from Gereon Alexius today.”

“Alexius?” Cullen asked. “What would someone from Tevinter want with the Herald?”

“To meet her in person—at Redcliffe. Where he’s made a deal with the mages.”

Cold bled through Cullen’s chest. A large group of unchecked mages was bad enough; for them to sell their service to the Tevinter Imperium while still on Ferelden soil and under protection from the King—“I knew we should’ve approached the Order from the start. If the mages are desperate enough to become slaves to a Magister then I say let him take them.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I—” Cullen pursed his lips, scowling at her calm expression. Sometimes, he wondered if the woman wasn’t a witch with the way she read other people’s minds. “I don’t,” he relented with a sigh. “But if they’re fortified within Redcliffe Castle, we’d never get enough manpower to break through. The mages are lost to us.”

“So we should simply let this Alexius take a powerful force that could be turned against us?”

He turned away, frustration curling around his fingers until his knuckles turned white he clenched his hands so tight. “What did the letter say?”

“It’s a simple invitation worded in a way that would make an Orlesian call it excessive. I’m certain that Alexius intends to kill her.”

“And you _want_ to send her to him? If she were to go in that Castle on her own, she _would_ die. That fortress has withstood every attack against it for centuries. We cannot— _I_ cannot ask the Herald to do that to herself, not after everything she’s already done for the Inquisition.”

“Is this your form of sentiment, Commander?” Leliana asked, lips turning up into a smirk. “I didn’t know you were capable of such things.”

He scowled. “You mistake me, Leliana. If nothing else, we cannot afford to lose her because she possesses the only means of closing the rifts. To lose one would strike a blow to the Inquisition; to lose both is something we may not be able to recover from.”

“We could ask the Herald herself.”

Cullen froze as Cassandra’s voice came from over his shoulders. He groaned, wishing the floor would open into a chasm and swallow him whole. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to agree with Leliana. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine tutted softly, her hand wrapped around Kaitlyn’s elbow as she seemed to drag the Herald into the room with her light touch. “You’re all forgetting something. We are an _Orlesian_ Inquisition in name. If we were to send the forces we have marching into Ferelden, we would provoke a war. In this case, I am afraid that it is better to do nothing.”

“But the magister—”

“Has outplayed us.” Cullen bit back his laugh at the near pout on Kaitlyn’s face as she took her place at the table. With a hand pressed against her stomach, she had a sense of wooziness about her. “Are you all right?” he asked under his breath.

“Fine,” she said with a strained smile. “The mark is fine too, by the way. I know that you stay up at night worrying about how it’s doing on those long rides through the mud.”

He flushed. “It was unkind of me to say it that way, I—”

“It’s all right, Commander.” Her smile grew before she chuckled with a shake of her head as the other three women continued to debate. “I know that the mark is the only reason why I’m here—why Cassandra didn’t skewer me when I was first found at the Breach.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

“It’s the truth. My belief about it doesn’t matter.”

Cullen stared at her. After all this time and that’s still what she thought of herself? _She_ was the one who led the party into the Hinterlands. _She_ was the one who recruited men and women into the Inquisition’s growing forces. _She_ was the only thing resembling a leader that they had. “You shouldn’t—”

Cassandra jolted the room when she slammed her fist against the table. “We cannot accept defeat now! There must be a solution.”

“Unless you know of some secret passage,” Cullen said, already tiring of this circular argument, “it simply _cannot_ be done.” He blinked when Leliana’s face turned up with a smirk. “What?”

“There _is_ such a passage. One I used years ago during the Blight. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“And you couldn’t mention this before?” Cullen scoffed. “Not that it’ll matter. Any agents we send in will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“Which is precisely why we need a distraction.”

“Draw their attention while we take out the Tevinters? It’s risky, but it could work.”

“Hello, right there.” Kaitlyn leaned forward and waved her hand in Cullen’s face. “You know, Herald. Trevelyan. Mage. The one who the two of you want to turn into bait.”

Cullen cleared his throat and offered something he hoped looked like a reassuring smile. He’d gotten so used to plotting their course out with Leliana and Josephine, it felt almost bizarre to have Kaitlyn in the room as well.

“You won’t be bait on your own.”

Cullen turned, frowning at the man—Tevinter by his appearance—who lounged in the doorframe.

“Lieutenant,” Cullen called to the man puffing up behind the new arrival, “why is this man here?”

“Says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.” He huffed, leaning on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

The stranger caught Kaitlyn’s eye and winked; Cullen bristled when she smiled in return.

“Herald, do you know this man?”

“Dorian Pavus,” the Tevinter said with a flourishing bow. “I met this lovely ‘Herald’ of yours back in Redcliffe.”

“I trust that he’s here to help,” Kaitlyn said to Cullen’s unasked question. “Alexius is using time magic. Dorian is the only one who seems to know anything about it.”

Dorian sent Cullen a smirk. “No need to glare at me like that, Commander. If I meant your dear Kaitlyn any harm, do you really think I’d go through this entire charade merely to get her into Redcliffe? I might be that clever, but I’m certainly not that hard working.”

Cullen ground his teeth, assessing the man. Yet another mage among their ranks. And one who was going to accompany Kaitlyn into enemy territory. _Mage_ territory. An uneasiness settled within his stomach. Once Kaitlyn disappeared within those walls, she’d be out of reach, out of help.

He turned to her. “This plan puts _you_ in the most danger. I cannot, in good conscience, order you to do this. The templars are still available if you’d rather not be someone else’s bait.” The faint lines around her eyes deepened with her growing scowl. Mages and templars. Again. But her anger didn’t change his answer. If she went to the Order, she could still escape if things went wrong. The mages allowed no such luxury.

“I…” Cullen felt the back of his neck warm. All eyes on the room were on him. “The choice is yours, Herald. I pray you will make the right one.”

Kaitlyn stepped up to the table, taking the iron marker that would declare once and for all which faction the Inquisition would try to recruit. Silence stilled everything in the room until she placed the marker onto Redcliffe Castle. “We go for the mages.”

Cullen’s heart fell as the others around the table began to make the preparations for the deceit. He watched Kaitlyn as she and Dorian departed the room, heads leaned in together. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he ran his thumb over the coin his brother had given him nearly twenty years ago.

_Andraste preserve her._

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Things are different now.” Cullen marched through the line of templars, sweeping his eyes over each man and woman he passed. He would’ve preferred more. With the mages from Redcliffe pouring in by the dozen, the few templars they had were spread too thin. If a mass possession happened so close to the Breach—he shuddered as the memory of screams from Kinloch Hold echoed through his head: her body had been limp when he held her in his arms. He screamed her name but she didn’t…

Cullen shook himself, taking in a deep breath of the cold air to clear his senses. “Firstly, you all need to find new armor. None of us are part of the Order. For too long the symbol of the Templars has been something mages fear. I want you to show everyone that we are different. Second, you are not their jailer nor their mentor nor their guard: you are a failsafe against possession, nothing more and nothing less. They are not your charges; they are your allies: treat them accordingly.”

“Commander.” A woman stepped forward, chin slightly raised. “About that, ser. In the Order there were rules about… getting to _know_ the mages.”

A murmur rippled through them.

“Fraternization is—” He cleared his throat when his own cheeks started to warm. “It will not be punished, but I would advise caution in such relations. Most mages will be hesitant to trust any of us because of recent circumstances. Make sure that any, uh, _activities_ are consensual and sensible.”

“Yes, ser,” she said with a grin, stepping back into line. “Thank you, ser.”

Cullen nodded, more to himself than the group of soldiers. The knots in his stomach had yet to disappear. Watching Kaitlyn disappear with the Tevinter, Varric, and Cassandra only to sit in Haven and wait as each excruciating hour of uncertainty passed. Time magic. A dark future where red lyrium had all but destroyed the world. The Inquisition bashed to pieces on the wall of Redcliffe Castle. His head went fuzzy and his stomach clenched. Had they truly avoided such a fate, or had their actions merely sealed in their course?

“Does anyone know where the Herald is?” Cullen asked.

“Out near the lake, ser,” one of the younger ex-templars said. “With the other mages, I suspect.”

“What are they doing?”

The man faltered. “They’re uh—” His pose relaxed as he glanced at Cullen. “They’re throwing snowballs, ser.”

“They’re throwing…?” Cullen rolled his eyes, dismissing the soldiers as he strode out the main gates of Haven. The mages weren’t so much _near_ the lake as _on_ it, balls of snow hurtling through the air in every direction. Barriers flew up and dissipated in flashes of pale light. Their laughter grew louder as he drew near; it echoed across the frozen ground and he wondered how he hadn’t heard it before.

Cullen blinked when a young boy in mage robes came running up towards the main camp. The child couldn’t have been older than five: his steps were unbalanced and he all but fell head-first on more than one occasion. Catching him around the waist, Cullen held the child upright when stumbled. “Are you all right?”

The boy’s blue eyes widened and, for a moment, Cullen feared he would cry out. Instead, a smile broke over his face. “The lady promised sweets!”

“Lady?”

The boy pointed towards the middle of the fray. Narrowing his eyes, Cullen could barely make out Kaitlyn covered in snow with her head thrown back in laughter.

“She promised you sweets?” Cullen asked.

The boy nodded even as he started to wriggle from Cullen’s hold. “But I need to finish my letters first!”

Cullen chuckled as the child plopped down into the snow only to take off at a wobbling run, black curls flopping around his ears. He was too young to be caught up in something as dangerous as the rebellion. Too young to be pulled into a war that he didn’t even understand. Too young to be taken from his parents. Cullen’s fists clenches as he watched the boy disappear behind the walls. Things needed to change.

Turning back to the mages, he flushed when he found Kaitlyn staring at him. She grinned, waving for him to join. He shook his head. Pain was already pounding behind his eyes, tongue begging for the slightest drop of lyrium to slake the thirst that was burning him from the inside out. Being that close to so many mages and templars at once, feeling the lyrium that pulsed through outside of his yearning grasp. No. It was better for him to stay away from such things.

“Commander!” Kaitlyn called to him when he started to leave. She slipped from the fray, chunks of snowing falling from her head and shoulders as she approached him. “Do you not approve of snowball fights?”

Cullen smirked. Her cheeks had darkened from the exertions, her bright eyes nearly glowing with laughter. Leliana had been right: Kaitlyn _was_ quite pretty when he stopped to think about it.

“It’s not that,” he said. “I’m feeling unwell and I fear I would only dampen the fun.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She stepped closer, a green glow growing between her fingers. “May I?”

“No, that’s quite all right.” He added a smile in the hope she wouldn’t take offense at his refusal. “It’s something I need to endure on my own.”

She frowned, lips pursing. “If you say so,” she muttered as her hand fell to her side.

He cleared his throat. “Why a snowball fight of all things?”

“Why not?” Her smile returned, brighter than ever. “Most of the mages here are like me—they’ve either never seen snow or they only saw it before they were taken to the Circle. I thought it would be nice to have a little fun. A calm before the storm, as it were. Since none of us might… I mean, I know there’s a chance that… well…” Her head fell and her hands twisted together. “It just seemed fun.”

“It is,” Cullen said quickly. “I mean, I think it was— _is_ —a good idea. I only asked out of curiosity.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. Heat rose to his cheeks when she continued to frown. Maker, he was terrible at talking on a casual level. “You, um, you hadn’t seen snow before?”

“Not up close like this. I remember watching outside of my window when I was a little girl. At the Circle, we weren’t allowed to go out when it snowed. It made it too easy to hide our tracks or some nonsense. The elder enchanters would always melt it off the grounds before we were allowed to go out again.” Kaitlyn raised her hand palm-up as though to show him. A wisp of vapor swirled inside her palm, condensing, slowing until small crystals began to form on her skin. Turning her palm over, the crystals drifted down like flakes of snow. “It’s one of the reasons I studied ice magic so much. It’s not the same as snow. It’s… colder, somehow. Harder.” She wiped her hand off the front of her coat. “That doesn’t really make sense, does it.”

“I think it makes perfect sense.”

She blinked then smiled, her eyes softening. “Was _your_ Circle like that? No mages in or out?”

“I, uh.” Cullen frowned. He tried to focus on her face, to stay in the moment with Kaitlyn, but the screams echoed in his mind. The stench of corpses, the sting of the demon’s claws against his chest. “Yes,” he said quickly, spilling over the words. “Yes, it was rather rigid and looking back at it now, I can see why the mages didn’t like it.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”

“It’s fine,” he said with more force than he’d intended. Letting out a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, Herald. It’s been a long day. For both of us.”

“Ending the apocalypse should never be easy.”

“Very true.” He chuckled, the tension in his neck easing. He turned from her to watch the mages. It wasn’t a matter of debate: sooner or later, abominations would leak through. With the Veil torn open, reports of demons had increased tenfold. Cullen thought of that little boy so eager for treats falling prey to temptation as Connor at Redcliffe Castle once had. Bile rose in his throat and his chest tightened. He would _not_ allow that to happen.

“Herald,” he said, “we need to discuss oversight of the mages.”

The light in Kaitlyn’s eyes dimmed and her arms crossed over her chest. “I granted them a full partnership, and I don’t intend to go back on my word.”

“I know, but turning them loose as they are will only lead to chaos. I _know_ that you made the choice because you believed it to be right, but you must admit that the risk of possession has never been higher. We have few templars as it is and if we are to keep everyone safe—mage, templar, and otherwise—we need to have a plan. The mages _need_ to be watched.”

She stepped closer, the skin between her eyes puckering with her scowl. “Should I be watched constantly as well, Commander? Is that why you’re always so worried about the mark? You’re afraid I’ll fall prey to a demon while I’m out of your sight and you’ll lose it forever?”

“Of course not.” He groaned, wishing he was better with words. “I didn’t mean—I have no intention of endangering your alliance, but I _must_ ensure the safety of those here. That concern extends to the mages. They are putting themselves at risk for the Inquisition, as are you. Any precautions taken are meant to aid you, nothing more. I hope you will accept them as such.” Her eyes remained hard and Cullen began shifting from foot to foot. “I know it mustn’t seem like it with the way I’ve been acting, but I _do_ trust your judgement and I _do_ trust that you will remain vigilant against demons on your own. Even so, I have seen too many _good_ mages falter in my life. Please, Herald.”

Kaitlyn pursed her lips as her eyes trailed him up and down as though his sincerity was hidden somewhere on his armor. After a moment, her shoulders rolled back with a light sigh. “I didn’t tell you before, but I tried to get the templars in Val Royeaux to listen to me. I wanted the mages first, that’s true, but I never saw why it had to be strictly one or the other. I won’t accept having templars above mages, but I wouldn’t mind templars being _partners_ with mages.”

“You don’t?”

“There have been times where templars were my only friends, and times where I’ve wanted to kill templars with my bare hands. In the end, they’re people just as mages are. It’s not _templars_ that I hate, Commander. It’s the Order. The Order which kept a good man from acting when his superior punched an old woman in the head. The Order which says that neither mage nor templar is allowed to go about their lives freely. The Order which keeps secrets from its own people as well as its charges. So… yes, the templars can watch the mages. But!” She moved in, swift and fierce, eyes burning as she poked a finger against his chest. “There are going to be rules on what the templars can do. If a templar harms or abuses or takes advantage of any mage, I expect there to be a punishment. I expect the mages to be treated as people deserving of respect. If not, I will take the mages and leave the Inquisition and you can figure out how to seal the Breach on your own.”

Her glare faltered when Cullen smiled.

“Thank you, Herald. I’ll make sure that the truth you’re putting me in and the others won’t be abused.”

“So… you agree?”

“I do.” For the most part, at least. He’d once believed the Order was right and just in its actions. Meredith had shown him otherwise.

“Just like that?”

“Any reason I shouldn’t?”

“No.” Kaitlyn withdrew her hand, pink rising to her cheeks. “I was expecting an argument.”

“You won’t find one in me. Not on this matter, at least.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“Thank you for trying,” Cullen said, taking a half-step closer. “For talking to the templars, I mean. Cassandra’s report made them sound… less than complimentary.”

“I certainly won’t be pledging my service to the Lord Seeker any time soon.” She smiled when Cullen chuckled. “But some of the others didn’t seem so bad. I already sent out another missive, asking if anyone wanted to join the Inquisition.”

“Really? You did that?”

“Cassandra seems utterly convinced that something is wrong with the Lord Seeker, and there’s no harm in asking for their help. Leliana says that it should already be there. That’s not a problem, is it? Asking the templars?”

“No, not at all!” He cleared his throat, cheeks warming. He retreated, hand coming to his neck again. “I appreciate the gesture, Herald, thank you. I think the number of templars who agree to join our cause may surprise you.”

Kaitlyn laughed and her smile grew. He stood straighter, feeling as though a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders. She was right. The Order and the Circles were both broken. But the Inquisition could take the pieces that remained to forge something new—something greater. Cullen met her eyes and his resolve faltered. There was no telling what sealing the Breach would do. What the _mark_ would do. All of this—all of her work—and she might walk up the mountain never to return.

He couldn’t breathe. Cullen glanced away as he struggled to retain his fracturing calm. He’d known it was a possibility, but with the time so close: what if none of it worked? What if their only hope died?

“How are you feeling?” he asked, unable to keep the question on his tongue any longer. “The mark, the Breach, all of this pressure on you.”

Her lips twitched and Cullen bit his tongue as her pained expression left a bitter taste in his mouth. She didn’t need a reminder that she was risking her life. None of them did.

“I’m fine.”

A lie. And an obvious one at that.

“How _are_ you?” he asked again, hoping to draw the pain from her before it swallowed her whole. He knew that feeling too well for himself to let it pass in another.

Her chin was quivering when she answered. “I’m… scared.” She turned around to face the lake. Her arms wrapped tight around her waist as though she were holding herself together. “People calling me the Herald of Andraste. They ask me if I know the Maker’s will. How am I supposed to answer that? And the Breach: what if it doesn’t work? What if none of this is enough? What if we make it worse like you feared?” She let out a soft growl under her breath.

“And then there’s the Inquisition itself,” she said. “As a mage, I never had many secrets of my own. But now I feel like the strangers in the camp know more about me than my friends in the Circle did, and Josephine! She keeps telling me to reach out to my family when she doesn’t understand a _thing_ about them. On top of that, I don’t actually _know_ anyone here. Varric is the closest thing I have to a friend and even then… even then, I don’t know if he even likes me or if he’s just being polite. Half the world is starting to put me up as some kind of savior, while the rest is painting me as a villain. I’m not either of those things. I’m not _anything_. I just want to be _me_.” Kaitlyn spun towards him. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes despite her attempts to blink them back. “Is that so much to ask?”

“No,” Cullen said. He placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing close enough so that it almost became an embrace. “No, it’s not. And no matter what anyone else calls you, you _are_ Kaitlyn Trevelyan.” He squeezed her arm gently and offered a tentative smile. “As for Tethras, believe me when I say that he isn’t known for his polite behavior. If he calls you a friend, it’s only because he means it.”

Kaitlyn’s body relaxed with a huffed breath. Her cheeks burning against the whiteness of the snow. “I must sound like a child.”

“Not at all.” Another squeeze of her shoulder. He stepped away, fingers itching to reach out and dry her tears before they fell. “But you do bring up a good point. You and I haven’t had much chance to talk about things—other than the mage-templar debate, at any rate. Perhaps after we seal the Breach, we could change that. Of course, you’d have to come back for that to be possible.”

Her laughter was rich and full. “It would be a shame if I disappointed the Commander of the Inquisition.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I… yes. That would be nice. Thank you, Commander.”

“Herald,” he said with a slight bow. “Andraste will see you through this trial. Of that, I’m certain.”

Kaitlyn smiled to herself as Cullen walked towards the main camp. Her chest was tight, but in a pleasant way. _No matter what anyone else calls you, you_ are _Kaitlyn Trevelyan._ It was silly, perhaps, but that had been the first time he’d used her name. The first time _anyone_ here had used her name. Not ‘mage,’ ‘spellbind,’ ‘Herald,’ or any other ridiculous title people tried to pin on her. Just Kaitlyn. She laughed. Coming from Cullen, her name didn’t sound half bad on its own.

“Getting along with Curly, I see.”

“I am not!” Kaitlyn snapped, cheeks warming.

Varric raised an eyebrow and the heat in her face continued to rise.

“Not in _that_ way. We were just talking about templars and the Breach and—stop smirking at me, Varric!”

“All right, all right.” He held his hands up in a placating gesture and Kaitlyn stared at the book he held. _Tale of the Champion_. It was a nice copy too: bound in leather and crushed velvet with golden clasps along its spine. “I come in peace. Just thought that you’d might like your blackmail a little early. I mean _gift_. How clumsy of me.”

Kaitlyn chuckled as she took the book into her hands, running her fingers along the embossed cover. Beautiful. A work of art in its own right. She flipped the cover open and frowned at the inscription inside.

“‘To Sweets—’ Is ‘Sweets’ supposed to me?”

“Until you find someone else who can eat three boxes of Orlesian pastries in the space of an hour without getting sick, I think ‘Sweets’ works perfectly for you. Unless you prefer ‘Herald,’ of course.”

“No. No, I like Sweets.” _To Sweets—The finest Herald I’ve ever met._ She traced the letters, her grin growing until her cheeks ached. She hadn’t expected to get her own copy, especially not one so fine. Pressing the book to her chest, she focused on every detail of the moment, wanting to imprint it on her memory. “I love it, Varric. Thank you.”

“I figured that, since you’ve saved my life at least once by now, it was only fair if you got one of the fancier editions.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.” She stared at Varric for a moment and bit her lip.

_Are we friends?_

It would be a strange question to simply ask him. They’d known each other less than a month, and most of that time had been spent on long, silent hours on the road. If the Breach hadn’t thrown them together, she doubted either of them would’ve even spoken to the other.

“Varric, I…” Better not to ask: he might not answer as she wanted him to. “I, uh—” She cleared her throat. “Why do you call the Commander ‘Curly’?”

“You mean you haven’t seen it yet?”

“Seen what?”

Varric’s body shook with his laughter; the wrinkles around his eyes deepened and he had to lean on his knees to keep himself upright. “I’m not spoiling _that_ surprise for you, Sweets. You’re going to have to stick around and see it for yourself.”

“See _what?_ ”

He grinned, lips pressed together.

“You’re a terrible person. You know that, right?”

Varric winked. “I do try my best.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen paced behind the row of mages stationed around the Breach. Kaitlyn stood with Solas and Cassandra at the center. Even from his position, Cullen felt the buzz of magic pouring out of the massive rift as the Veil beckoned those to draw nearer like a siren’s call. Wincing at the song, he rubbed the back of his neck and forced himself to concentrate.

“Let her will draw upon yours!” Solas shouted from below.

Cullen nodded to the few templars nearby. They drew their swords as Cullen did his. Closing his eyes, he said a quick prayer in his heart. _Let it work_ , he begged the Maker in Andraste’s name. _Let Kaitlyn survive._

Magic pulsed through the ruins as the mages pressed their staves into the ground, their power nearly a tangible thing: like water flowing downstream to the Herald’s mark.

 _Let it work_.

Kaitlyn staggered to the center, hand raised. Her mark sputtered and burned as a connection formed between her and the Breach above. She was screaming.

_Let her live._

The mages wavered. Cullen tightened his grip

_Please!_

Kaitlyn’s arm flung outward and the rift imploded, the leftover magic pulsing backwards. Cullen braced for the impact, grunting when the wave of energy hit him, stirring the traces of lyrium that remained in his blood. His body shuddered. He fell to a knee, panting under the strain. The magic fizzled and died. Cheers rose up, building until the sound drowned out all else. Cullen pushed onto his feet, slipping through the mages.

“Herald!” He ran down to where she was struggling to stand.

“I’m all right.” Kaitlyn was panting; sweat marked her forehead as her chest heaved. Her knees shook when she stood. Green sparked in her palm as she flexed her hand. “I’m actually all right.”

“Then it’s done.” Cassandra smiled as she joined them. “We should return. Josephine and the others will want to hear the good news.”

“Yes,” Kaitlyn said. Her smile was weak and she staggered to the side. Cullen reached out to steady her but Cassandra got there first.

“You two go on ahead,” he said. “I should check in with our watchguards to ensure everything’s as it should be.”

“Right now?” Kaitlyn asked even as Cassandra started hauling her away.

“I won’t be long,” he promised with a smile. In truth, he needed to be away from the others, to be away from the magic and lyrium that swirled around him, threatening to drown his resolve. Turning, he marched away, sucking in the cold air greedily as he went. The Breach was closed. He frowned as he considered what that truly meant. Up till now, the Breach had been their unifying purpose; it had been the reason Kaitlyn had stayed. Celene’s potential assassination, this ‘Elder One,’ the murder of the divine. Important, yes, but none were strong enough to keep the Inquisition together.

“Ser!”

Cullen blinked, the present returning to focus as one of their scouts came barreling towards him.  “What’s wrong?”

“A massive force, ser, coming over the mountain.”

Cullen caught the woman as she all but ran into him, her breath coming out as crystallized puffs.

“What banner are they flying?” he asked. If there was even a _chance_ they could be friendly.

“None, ser.”  

“None?”

She shook her head.

“The other watchguards?”

Another shake.

_Shit._

“Come on, then.” Half-sweeping the woman into his arms, Cullen took off at a run back to the main camp. He shouted along his way, yelling for everyone to raise whatever alarm they could. They needed to withdraw the civilians and children before they enemy drew near. Leaving the scout with a healer, Cullen ran to where Cassandra and Kaitlyn stood. “Forces over the mountain. No banner. Most of the guards have already been eliminated.”

“What do we—”

Kaitlyn’s question died when a sharp knock rattled the main gates into Haven.

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

Cassandra stepped forward, sliding the latch across with one swift pull before she backed away.

A templar stood on the other side, his face cracked and glowing like the corrupted lyrium where the temple had once stood. He started forward, sword raised. Cullen rushed ahead, placing himself between Kaitlyn and the attacker.

The templar fell at Cullen’s feet. He frowned at the faint shine of metal sticking out of the man’s chest. A figure stood behind the felled templar, large hat draping over his face, a second templar draped across his shoulders. “I’m Cole. This is Delrin. He got your letter for the templars. Wanted to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

Cullen stepped closer and the man retreated.

“Templars?” Cullen asked. “Is this the Order’s response after we reached out to them? To attack blindly?

“The red templars went to the Elder One.” The pale stranger slipped around towards Kaitlyn. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

“Who are you talking about?” Cullen demanded, shifting again to keep the intruder away from the Herald.

“He was a kind man once: took letters for a distant sweetheart, but the letters damned them both. The other one can read the letters all day but feels nothing of the love they once carried.”

Cullen’s eyes widened. Samson. 

“He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages.”

“Cullen.” Kaitlyn grabbed his arm, turning him around. “Give me a plan; anything!”

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything you can.” He stared at her a moment and his jaw clenched. The circles under her eyes had darkened since this morning. Closing the Breach had already left her drained.

“Mages!” Cullen turned to the gathering group, hardly able to believe the words forming on his tongue. “You—you have sanction to engage them. That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

The soldiers and mages scattered. Cullen grabbed Cassandra’s arm as she began to depart. “Keep the Herald safe.”

“I will,” she promised, before running after Kaitlyn and the others.

“Everyone else,” Cullen yelled, “back to the Chantry.” He tore through the buildings, gathering the healers and civilians and children. _Children_. His chest tightened as he pulled a young girl and the boy from before into his arms, holding them tight as he ran for the Chantry. They should’ve left the children somewhere safer. They should’ve had more trebuchets, more defenses, more everything. Dropping the children inside the solid walls, he glared at the smiths who clumsily waved the swords they’d made “I want you in the Chantry as well,” he called to them.

They shook their heads, grins on their faces as they charged into battle.

Fools! They had no training: they were more liable to stick their swords into each other than they were to kill an enemy.

“Mother Giselle, take the children underground where it’s safest.” He didn’t wait to see if she’d heard him, surging into the fray instead. He had to help the Herald. If the stranger—Cole—was right, Samson would focus his forces on her. An earth-shattering crack stopped him. A laugh bubbled inside his chest. Snow poured down the side of the mountain like water, crushing the templars beneath its force as it swept them aside. He raised his sword in victory, hope building inside his chest.

It hardened into cold terror when a shriek echoed through the valley. A dragon, as corrupted as the soldiers it fought with, swept low over Haven, fire pouring from its mouth. Buildings burst into flames. Men and women withered in sickening screams. It carved a path through the snow, the remaining templars all but upon them.

“Everyone, back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast!” A dragon. A corrupted High Dragon. There was no hope against such a creature.

“Commander!” Kaitlyn stood only a few paces away. Blood trickled down her left cheek from a shallow gash. Her eyes were wild, hair ruffled. Magic fizzled around her as her barrier decayed. “What can we do?”

She was dead. Just as he was dead. Just as they were _all_ dead. The dragon had smothered any chance of survival. Cullen took a step closer, wishing they’d had more time, wishing they could’ve spoken together as friends like they’d planned.

“At this point,” he said, “just make them work for it.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Bodies were burning.

Cullen ground his teeth, trying to ignore the stench as he held one of the Chantry sisters tight against his chest, his shield held above both their heads. Flames licked around the edge of the metal, threatening to consume them. Gripping the woman closer, Cullen used his body to block the bulk of the heat. He grimaced at the acrid scent of burning fur.

The dragon pulled away, sweeping back towards the front. Cullen took off with the sister at a run, half-carrying her towards the Chantry. A child was crying; men moaned under healers’ hands as they tended to scorched limbs. Turning back to the battle, Cullen’s eyes swept over the chaos. So many people had been reduced to ash, blades half-melted against the snow. Damn them. Why hadn’t they listened when he’d told them to pull back?!

Shaking off the guilt for later, Cullen ordered two guards to do a final sweep of Haven before he charged towards the main gates. A behemoth stood beside one of the trebuchets, its clawed arm raised above its head. Near a half dozen men clustered around it armed with bows and swords. Dorian and Varric stood on a pillar of ice above the fray, arrows and bolts of fire raining down on the madness below. Blades and crystalized arms hacked at the pillar but did little more than chip the ice. Kaitlyn stood at the center of the chaos, her staff blade buried in the snow as ice crept up the behemoth’s legs, freezing it into place. A shield bashed the frozen creature, snapping it apart into chunks with a sickening crack.

A sword raised behind Kaitlyn’s back.

Cullen ran.

The metal fizzled against Kaitlyn’s dying barrier. She turned. Cassandra was running as well. Dorian had redirected his flame towards the attacking templar.

Cullen reached him first. Heaving the attacker against the ice pillar, Cullen ran the man through, burying his sword up to the hilt in the templar’s chest. The face was cracked and glowing red. It sang to him like the red lyrium at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had, calling to him, begging him to take a taste.

Cullen ripped out his sword and let the man fall. He turned, shield at the ready, but the rest had already been punctured or singed beyond recognition.

“We seem to be clear for the moment,” Cullen said. “Everyone’s regrouping at the Chantry: we may not get another chance to catch our breath like this again.” He caught Cassandra’s eye and she gave him a grim nod. They were dead, but… at least this way, some of the people might die in hope.

“Right behind you,” Kaitlyn said as she brought down her tower of ice. Blood continued to trickle down her cheek, mixing with the sweat on her skin.

Cullen waited until the others passed before joining her side on their return to the Chantry. Her eyes were glazed, chest heaving, skin flushed. She wouldn’t last much longer in a fight. None of them would. Even Cassandra lacked the usual conviction in her step.

“Do you think…?” Kaitlyn started to ask as they neared the Chantry. “Um—that is… what if we put the Mother Giselle and the children down in basement where the cells are. There were a couple rooms down there too. It’s possible that once the main building is burned, the templars won’t press further. Or is that ridiculous? I was hoping that since the rest is stone, it might not…” She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I wish I’d studied fire more.”

He smiled. She could’ve run. There were so many times when she could’ve walked away from the Inquisition and its cause. And now she was going to die for it. “It’s a good plan. It gives them a chance they might not have otherwise.

“Herald, I—” He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how he could put it into words. _Thank you_ seemed cold and inefficient. “Promise me you won’t give up. No matter what Samson throws at us. Promise me that you’ll keep going.”

“I promise.” Kaitlyn grinned, a light returning to her eyes as she stared at him. “They’re going to regret coming up against the Inquisition, Commander. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already achieved that with the avalanche.” Cullen resisted the urge to embrace her and turned to the Chantry doors instead, latching them closed. So few of them remained: a fraction of the people they’d had before. “Roderick!”

The stranger who’d come to warn them was dragging him towards a chair.

“He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What a charming boy,” Roderick grunted.

Cullen clenched his fists. They had more sisters than soldiers at this point. The healers were already overwhelmed by the wounded. Children’s cries echoed up from the basement.

“Herald!” He turned to Kaitlyn again, back straight, decision set. “You’ve seen it for yourself. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. Our position is…” He clenched his jaw, unable to say it with so many ears in the room.

“Archdemon,” Cole said, “not a dragon. I was in the Fade when I saw it, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it _looks_ like. It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill—” Cullen moved in closer, his voice cutting down to a harsh whisper. “They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cole’s watery gaze turned to Kaitlyn. “He wants to kill _you_. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like…?” Cullen rolled his eyes. There was no room for such ridiculous sentiments when their lives were at risk. “Herald, there is only one things that might be able to stop that monster. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’d be killing ourselves along with him.” Kaitlyn studied his expression for a moment; the color drained from her face. “You really think—is there no chance for us?”

“… No. No, there’s not.” Cullen stared at her. If her face was going to be the last one he ever saw, and least it was a pretty one. “We’re dying, Kaitlyn. But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“I understand.”

“Wait,” Cole called to them. “Yes, _that_. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” the man wheezed. “You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape… She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you.”

“Would that work?” Kaitlyn asked.

“Possibly. _If_ he shows us the path; _if_ it’s not been buried since then; _if_ the templars don’t already know about it. But what of your escape?” Cullen looked to her and she turned away. Her fingers tightened around the polished staff in her hands and electricity jumped along the length of the inscribed wood. His heart ached at the thought of her body laying among the dead. She deserved so much more than this.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” He reached for her. He wanted to hold her close, to learn what her hair smelled like before…

“Inquisition!” Cullen pulled away from her side as he addressed the rest of the room. “Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. There is no time to waste!” He glanced back to Kaitlyn. She was murmuring in Dorian’s ear; lyrium bottles passed from his hands into a small pouch on Kaitlyn’s hip. “Herald, Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance—let that thing hear you.”

“I will, Commander.” Kaitlyn shot him a smile and Cullen’s chest tightened until it became painful to breathe. He wanted to join the others, to fight alongside her like Cassandra and Varric and Dorian, to hold that line at bay until the end. But his duties remained with the people he had to protect.

Cullen caught Cassandra by the arm, leaning over to whisper. “Keep her safe for as long as you can.”

 She placed a clenched fist over her heart. “I swear my life on it.”

“Cullen!”

He turned to where Kaitlyn stood outside the Chantry doors. She smiled again. Her eyes were shining—no, she was _crying_.

“Thanks for telling me your favorite color.”

Kaitlyn slammed her staff down into the snow and the Chantry doors snapped shut with a resonating clang. Frost seeped in between the cracks before ice swallowed the doors whole.

“No!” Cullen ran to the doors, beating his fists upon them. He may as well have tried to beat down a mountain. “You,” he turned on Dorian, “melt it down.”

Dorian scoffed. “I thought the point was _not_ to set the building on fire. Ice that thick—I would never be able to get rid of it in time.”

“So you won’t try at all?” He grabbed the front of the mage’s robes, glaring at the Tevinter. “I thought you were her friend.”

“I am,” Dorian snarled. “But I also know that the only way to get to her is to go through this little pass of yours and come around.”

Cullen tightened his grip, anger pulsing through his veins. Why had she done that? Why had she—

Releasing the mage with a light snarl, Cullen tore to the window. Kaitlyn stood in the center of five templars. They weapons bounced off her barrier, arrows landing harmlessly in the snow. Her head threw back as she downed one of the bottles of lyrium. Damn it. She didn’t need to—

“ _Move!_ ” Cullen barked at those who still lingered. He took the templar Cole had brought with him, slinging the unconscious man across his shoulders. He followed behind Cassandra and Dorian, pausing at the entrance to turn back. Kaitlyn was still standing, still fighting outside the window, outside of his reach.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he said to the empty room, wishing he’d been able to give the words to her instead. “Not until I find you again.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kaitlyn couldn’t even muster the strength to scream. She lay there, body convulsing, clothes staining with her blood, as flakes of snow drifted onto her face. The mark, _Corypheus’_ mark, sputtered and burned, making her wince and groan.

 _You have to keep going_.

The voice in her head was Cullen’s. She could picture his scowling face, the scar on his lip puckering adorably in his anger. He’d gotten out alive. She rested back, smiling at the thought. Cullen, and the others, they were _alive_. Would it really be so terrible if she didn’t? If she closed her eyes and slept never to wake up again? Maybe then the pain would stop.

 _You have to keep going_.

Kaitlyn gritted her teeth. There’d been such a sadness in his eyes when she’d slammed the doors, such regret. _Damn him_.

She forced herself to move. A few fingers, then a hand. An arm.

She screamed.

Pain tore through her left shoulder, burning its way down her back and through her chest. Rolling—or rather flopping—onto her front, she inched forward at a crawl. Dragging her legs, then on her knees, limping onto her feet. She reached for her staff but found only snow and ice beneath her fingers. It’d been a gift from the Grand Enchanter. Another victim to the assault on Haven.

Kaitlyn scoffed as she staggered forward. “You and your lip scar are going to owe me an entire shop full of sweets, Commander. Won’t be smirking then, will you. No.” She kept his face in her head as she moved, letting her screams echo freely throughout the caves at each fresh wave of pain. “Show you first-hand how… how great mages can be. Damn right, I will. You and… and everyone else.” Cullen, every templar or Chantry sister who’d ever sneered at her, everyone who’d ever called her a ‘spellbind,’ her _father_. “Show all of you.”

‘Cold’ didn’t do the frigid air justice when she stepped outside the caves. The air cut across her skin like knives. Her breath froze before it’d even left her lips and the last traces of her sweat hardened into beads of ice on her skin. Bringing her hands up to her face, she tried to warm them, tried to push the last of her magic into a flare of hope. The fire in her palms sputtered and died with the last of her energy.

Her knees crashed to the snow.

“C-c-come on, i-ice.” Her chattering teeth chopped up the words. “Th-thought w-we were f-friends.”

Her body trembled. Her eyelids grew heavy, drooping, begging for sleep. It would feel so good to lay close. Close her eyes. Drift off. Forget the pain. Forget everything.

_You have to keep going._

“D-d-damn you, C-Cull-llen.” She stood again, fearing her legs would freeze and snap at any moment.

One step in front of the other. Keep going. Eyes down. Curl inward. Endless white as far as she could see. Keep going. Her nose went numb. Then her ears. Her feet. Fingers next. Arms. Legs.

Kaitlyn staggered blindly, every breath a strain as the cold leeched away her life from the inside out. Keep going. They’d be waiting for her at the end of this. They’d be there with warm blankets and warmer smiles. She wanted to see them again. Wanted to talk with Varric and Dorian and Cullen and all the rest. Wanted to experience the freedoms that had always been denied her. _She had to keep going._

White.

Is there anyone there?

Her heart was slowing.

Can anyone hear me? Please?

Keep going.

Please. Someone help me.

Keep going.

Cullen.

Keep…


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning notice: Mention of blood and injuries.

“What do you mean you haven’t found her?” Bottles rattled when Cullen slammed his fists onto the table. He glared at the scouts who had returned empty-handed, anger pulsing through him. The image of Kaitlyn standing alone surrounded by the sinister glow of the corrupted templars had haunted him with every passing moment. He couldn’t blinked without seeing her surrounded by blades of steel and lyrium, her magic faltering even as she fought. He should’ve been there. It had been his duty to protect her!

“She wasn’t among the bodies at Haven, ser. At least…” The scout glanced to the others before staring down at her feet. “At least not as far as we could tell.”

The burnt bodies. Cullen’s heart fell at the thought of Kaitlyn’s corpse being among that pile of the dead. No. It couldn’t be. She’d activated the trebuchet that had triggered the avalanche. Corypheus’ army had retreated along with his dragon. There had been no time for her to burn. He clung to the thought, forcing it into a fact in his mind.

“If you haven’t found a body then you’ll have to look somewhere else,” Cullen barked. “There may have been other tunnels or passageways like the one we took.” He barely contained his snarl when one of the guards scoffed. His knuckles ached when he clenched his hands; he took a steadying breath. “The Herald managed to close the Breach, gather all the forces we have, and she stood alone against Corypheus. _She is alive_.”

“Yes, ser,” the cowed scout muttered, his head lowering as the tips of his ears turned pink.

Cullen dismissed them with a sigh and turned to study the camp. Scouts had been scavenging the remnants of Haven for supplies but hope was already failing. Kaitlyn was the heart of the Inquisition. Without her… Cullen’s chest tightened and his next breath came out as a wheeze. Snatching up his sword where it had been leaning against the table, Cullen strapped it to his waist as he began marching from the camp.

“Commander!”

Cullen didn’t slow as Cassandra came up to him.

“Where are you going?”

“Further up into the mountains,” he said. “If Kaitlyn—if the Herald found a way to escape, I believe she’d be up there. It’s one of the few places the scouts haven’t already checked.” She touched his arm and Cullen came to abrupt stop, his jaw clenching.

“Do you truly believe she’s alive after all that?”

“…I have to.”

Her eyes narrowed and he turned away from the intensity in her gaze. Kaitlyn _had_ to be alive out there. But each passing second would push her further towards the realm of death. Even if she wasn’t hurt and bleeding, even if she’d found protection from the creatures in the mountains, cold and hunger would claim her eventually.

“If you’re going to try and stop me, don’t bother. I’m determined to find her—in whatever condition she may be.”

“I understand,” she said. “And I want to go with you.”

Cullen frowned, mouth parting in a question he never voiced. There was no telling what they would find. Having Cassandra at his side would only increase the chances of Kaitlyn’s safe return. “Thank you,” he said at last. She gave him a stiff nod before shouting at several nearby guards to join them. Cullen allowed a brief flutter of hope. He turned to the mountains, willing them to reveal the Herald’s location.

_Hold on, Kaitlyn. We’re coming._

 

* * *

 

 

Snow blanketed everything in an unending sea of white. Panting against the growing weariness in his body, Cullen counted each crunching footstep. One hundred. Two hundred. His ears rung, his neck burned, his head pounded with the aching desire for lyrium. He sucked in another cold breath and forced his legs to continue forward.

Cullen kept her face sharp in his mind, turning her into the focal point of his energy. He wouldn’t stop until he’d found her again.

“We need to head back soon,” one of the guards said. He was tall and round and his cheeks were a deep scarlet against the snow. “It’s getting dark.”

“You can leave if you wish,” Cullen’s voice was clipped. He had no time to waste on idly conversations. “I won’t stop until we’ve recovered the Herald.”

Cassandra’s fingers on his arm made him pause. They’d scoured the mountains for hours with no trace for where Kaitlyn could be. He glanced up at the woman and bit the inside of his cheek. Resignation rested in her dark eyes.

“I’m not giving up,” he murmured so only she could hear. “She didn’t come this far disappear on us now. She’s out here somewhere, Cassandra; I’m sure of it.”

Cassandra squeezed his arm. “Then I shall continue with you.”

Cullen gave her a subdued smile and counted another handful of steps. Darkness crept among the steep mountainsides, threatening to end his search.

Cullen thrust a hand into his pocket, his fingers tightening around the coin there. He murmured a prayer as he walked, the canticle falling naturally from his lips as his mind scattered elsewhere. His eyes scoured the path ahead. He stopped. Something twinkled against the dying light. He waited, counting the heartbeats. Another glint of light. The wind picked up, casting snow aside. A patch of dark snow created a sudden contrast against the snow.

“It’s her!” He shouted, kicking himself into a sprint even as Cassandra cried out _Thank the Maker._ He fell then straightened and fell again. “Kaitlyn!” He was crawling now, clawing his way up the mountainside as he closed the distance between them. He fell to his knees at her side and his breath left him.

Kaitlyn lay still in the snow, her eyes closed, lashes covered with a kiss of frost. Her skin was paler than he’d ever seen save for her nose and ears where the cold had blackened her skin. He leaned over, letting his cheek hover above her lips. Relief made his arms shake when the barest puff brushed against his skin. Cullen ripped his glove off with his teeth and to feel her pulse. Slow and uneven but alive. She was _alive_.

“We need to get her to camp.” Cassandra came up from behind him. She gasp and whispered, “Andraste preserve her.”

“Warn the healers,” Cullen said. “They’ll need to prepare so she can be treated immediately.” He ran his hands lightly down Kaitlyn’s coat, inspecting for injuries. Her left arm was bent at the wrong angle and a purple bruise peeked out from beneath her shirt. Several cuts—already congealed and brown—marked her face. “She’s hurt too. Make sure every poultice and lyrium potion is at their disposal.”

Cullen slid the mantle from his shoulders and bundled the mage in them. He put his gloves over her hands next, grimacing at the dark skin. She felt like ice when he held her. Even through the armor and the layers between them, a deep chill settled into him as he carried her down the mountainside.

“Kaitlyn?” he asked softly. She was alive, but for how long? “Kaitlyn, can you hear me?” He held her tighter when she remained silent, going as fast as he dared until he returned.

Cullen refused to let her go.

Soldiers and Sisters all flocked to him as he carried Kaitlyn through camp, wanting to see their Herald. Some fell to their knees with praise on their lips, others turned their backs and murmured at how Andraste’s chosen could be reduced to such a state.

Cullen pushed through them all, cradling Kaitlyn’s body to him as he marched into the healer’s tent. He winced at the lyrium-laced magic filling the air. It called to him, begged him to take a sip, to ease the scorching pain in his throat. He held Kaitlyn a moment longer before giving her over to the healers’ bed. “Can you help her?”

An old woman pushed him aside. She removed Cullen’s gloves to inspect Kaitlyn’s fingers, turning them over in her hands. “The frost is set in deep. We’ll do what we can but she’s in the Maker’s hands as much as she is in ours.”

Healers flocked around Kaitlyn, cutting her coat and stripping her bare. Cullen’s stomach turned. Her skin was laced with dark purple bruises that had yellowed around the edges. She had at least one cracked rib, likely more. There was deep gash that traveled along the length of her right leg and more bruises marked the surrounding skin. His eyes swept up again as they stripped her of her breast band and Cullen felt his cheeks burn. He turned away, a twinge of shame burning the back of his neck that he would react in such a way at a time like this.

“What can I do to help her?”

“Stay out of our way.”

Cullen frowned. “There must be something.” He caught the arm of one of the mages who passed. “Please,” he begged. “Please give me a task. If I just sit here doing nothing, I’ll go insane.”

The man’s scowl softened. “It wouldn’t hurt if we had more supplies from Haven.”

“I’ll bring back everything I can find.” Cullen paused a moment and glanced to Kaitlyn. If he hadn’t felt her pulse for himself, he would’ve thought her dead already. His knees went weak at the thought of returning only to find her corpse. “Do whatever you have to. Just save her, _please_.”

“We’ll do what we can.”

Cullen let them push him from the tent. He stood there, feeling the curious eyes of the camp on the back of his neck.

“Commander?” Josephine asked. Her usually splendid dress had been reduced to singed rags of sullied gold. Her hair hung in messy strands around her face, and her fingers clenched and wrung together in a continual pattern. “The Herald, is she…?”

“She lives,” he said. He tried to force a smile, to show some sign of reassurance but the gesture felt hollow and cold. Cullen brushed his fingers against the tent flap, another prayer to Andraste in his heart before he turned around and stalked into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Haven was gone. The buildings glowed like dying embers, the contents and citizens reduced to agonized ash.

Cullen hefted Kaitlyn’s scorched trunk—the only thing that had served her cabin—as he stalked down the side of the mountain. There’d been nothing that the scouts hadn’t already reclaimed, leaving Haven behind them like a picked-over carcass. Cullen gritted his teeth as he paused to collect another handful of Elfroot. He thawed out the leaves with his breath and fingers before storing the collection into the trunk with the rest of Kaitlyn’s things.

Grey began spilling over the mountain peak: the warning of the oncoming dawn. He grunted, quickening his pace as he trudged to the encampment below. Dying fires licked the cracked remnants of burnt logs, casting long shadows over the handful of soldiers who paced throughout the camp. The only other light came from the healer’s tent.

“How is she?” Cullen asked as he set the trunk inside.

“She’s fucking cold!” Bull snapped from the bed.

Kaitlyn—now wrapped in bandages—was draped across Bull’s front. The qunari’s hands rubbed along her back in slow, circular motions. Cullen had never thought of Kaitlyn as _small_ until that moment. Bull could miniaturize anyone who stood beside him but Kaitlyn, with her bandages and shallowed breaths, appeared closer to a sick child than an injured warrior.

“Um…” Cullen cleared his throat and glanced away. Bull was the proper choice to keep Kaitlyn warm. He was large enough to cover more of her skin and his size made him run hotter than the average human but it still felt… off to see Kaitlyn in his arms. He shifted from one foot to another as he tried to shake the nagging emotion off. “Has the Herald improved?”

“Barely,” Vivienne said as she washed her hands off in a basin. “We managed to restore a bit of color to her fingers and nose but she’s still not responding to stimulus in the rest of her extremities. I’d feel better if she’d open her eyes.”

“… I see.” Cullen stepped aside when one of the healers nudged at his side. “I managed to collect some elfroot. There weren’t any poultices left at Haven.”

“Every bit helps, my dear.” She motioned to a small table where he could set them down before raising an eyebrow at him. “Anything else, Commander?”

“I, uh—” He had no real reason to stay. “Can nothing else be done for her?”

“Boss’ll be fine,” Bull rumbled, a gentle teasing in his tone. “ _I’m_ the one you should be worrying about. Stuck here with nowhere to go. How’m I supposed to take a piss when the time comes? Hmm?”

Cullen managed a small smile, grateful for the distraction. “I’m sure we can figure something out with a bottle if nothing else.” His smile grew at Bull’s grimace. Kneeling down in front of Kaitlyn’s trunk, Cullen eased the lid open, hoping to find some trinket that he could place beside her bed—something familiar for her to awaken to. A change of clothes, a handful of runes, a small bag of cookies—Cullen smiled at that, recalling the small boy who’d run through the snow for sweets—and a book wrapped in velvet.

He peeled back the top layer and his lip curled.

_Tale of the Champion._

He set the book back in place with a heavy sigh. He’d never read the novel himself. He had no desire to revisit the ghosts that haunted his dreams in his waking hours, no desire to go through a recounting of six years of his life, of all the things he’d done, and all the things he'd _failed_ to do. 

“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said to the healers before moving back to the tent flap. He paused a moment to stare at Kaitlyn. Her cheeks were marked with bruises and scrapes, darkened by the severe cold. His stomach twisted into tight knots, guilt choking him from the inside. The image of her standing alone had yet to leave his thoughts. Cullen wandered through the camp, mind too frantic for sleep. There had to be some other task, some way to reach her as she was. He stopped at one of the dying fires. Varric sat there, Bianca on his lap as he polished the old crossbow. Cullen sat across from him, staring at the dwarf who spared him little more than a glance.

"Can't sleep either, Curly?"

"No."

"Nights like these, I'm glad I can't dream. After seeing that _thing_ back in Haven, well... there are a lot more restless soldiers tonight than there were yesterday."

Cullen mumbled an agreement. Many of the workers and recruits were new to war. Seeing Haven burn like that would be a rude awakening to the realities of what was to come. "Any deserters?"

"None that I could see. Seeker's been keeping things relatively calm since things started crumbling apart. And you bringing Sweets back to camp seems to have improved things a bit." Varric's face darkened in the shadows, his movements slowing as he said under his breath, "Don't know what'll happen if she dies though."

"Don't say that." Cullen cleared his throat when his voice broke. "Kaitlyn won't—The Herald's stronger than this. She'll pull through."

Varric raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure you're right, Curly." He dipped his rag back into a small container before continuing to rub down Bianca's wooden parts. He cradled the weapon, eyes softening as he brought it close for inspection.

"Can I ask a favor?" Cullen asked.

"Of _me_?" Varric smirked. "Have I graduated from my status of unwelcome tagalong?"

"You know as well as I that if you were truly unwelcome, Cassandra would've thrown you out of Haven long before now." Cullen smiled when the other man chuckled softly.

Varric set his crossbow aside with a gentle pat and turned to face Cullen again. "What did you have in mind?"

"While the Herald's indisposed, I thought she might appreciate it if you read to her." Cullen frowned at how childish the request sounded out loud. "It's said that people can still hear when you're talking to them. and I know that she considers you a friend. It would be best if the words came from you."

"And do you have a copy of this magical book I'm supposed to read? I don't know if you noticed, Curly, but the library at Haven isn't exactly accessible right now."

"Her copy of _Tale of the Champion_ survived. It's in the tent with her now."

Varric's eyes widened, the fire turning them into a deep russet gold. "You _want_ me to read that to her? You _do_ remember what happens in that book, don't you? What _you_ did?"

Cullen's jaw tightened. "Of course I remember."

"And you remember that Sweets is a mage, don't you?"

"Yes," Cullen said through clenched teeth.

"Well, _shit_ ," Varric said the word with a weak chuckle as he leaned back, darkness obscuring most of his face. "Never thought I'd live to see a day like this. I suppose I could soften some--"

"No," Cullen snapped. "If she wants to know the truth of what happened in Kirkwall, then... then she should know all of it."

"I'm flattered that you think my humble book is a complete picture of what happened, but if I read that to her, Sweets is going to think you're still—"

"I know." Cullen gripped his hands, his chest tightening to the point of pain. Would she hate him after hearing the things he'd said? All the things he'd failed to do? His cowardice? He buried his face in a hand, the guilt of the last decade crushing him beneath every hateful word and ignored deed. "Let her think what she will; I'm not going to hide from what I've done."

"All right," Varric said. "If that's what you really want."

"It is."

Varric shook his head, a curse under his breath. "I'll drop by later after I've finished with Bianca."

Cullen muttered his thanks before standing again. _Look to the future_ , he reminded himself. The damage of Kirkwall was done. Haven was destroyed. But the Inquisition remained.

"You!" Cullen caught the arm of the boy who'd warned them of Samson's attack. "Where's the templar you brought in earlier."

"Dozing now, trying not to dream." He pointed towards one of the tents on the edge of camp, the rest of his words echoing behind Cullen's shoulder as he marched off. "The red pulses and burns behind his eyes. He tried to make them stop, tried to make them listen... their hearts were already lost."

The templar bolted upright when Cullen entered the tent. The light sheen of sweat made his dark skin glisten in the light from the fires outside. He was panting, wide eyes filled with terror.

"You're all right," Cullen said, keeping his hands up as he carefully crouched beside the man. "Do you know where you are?"

He nodded sharply. "The healers, they told me about--" He rubbed a hand over his head, eyes closing for a moment. "I still can't believe the Lord Seeker betrayed us like that."

"Tell me everything."

The templar—Delrin—sat across from Cullen, his legs tucked in close, arms loose almost as though he wasn't sure what to do with them. "The letter from the Inquisition had just arrived, asking if we'd still like to set up a meeting..." Cullen listened as Delrin described the bizarre behavior of his superiors, the harsh commands and cold eyes. "Everything just fell apart after that," Delrin muttered, explaining how the Lord Seeker had been exposed as a demon, the red templars destroying them from within, smashing their way through the other templars like wild fire burning tinder. "The rest of us ran when we saw that all was beyond the point of saving. Me and a handful others stayed behind at the bridge, trying to hold off the attack so everyone else could escape. I thought I was dead when I felt arms lifting me up."

"And _did_ the others escape?" Cullen asked.

"They were still running the last I remember, but who knows if they managed to outrun those... things."

"At least there's hope that they're still alive. We can send out search parties once we've regrouped."

"To what end?" Delrin asked. "The Order has fallen from the inside. The mages that serve your Inquisition were beaten in the same attack."

"The Inquisition has only faltered. We may have taken a beating but we're still standing, and so long as there are people willing to fight, there's still hope that we can put a stop to Corypheus' plans."

Red lyrium in the dark future Kaitlyn had seen and not the Order fallen to the same corruption. And Samson. Cullen clenched his jaw. What had made him fall so far to serve under someone like Corypheus?

Cullen stayed with Delrin, passing the time with hushed conversations, until the sun spilled out over the camp. Leaving the templar to rest, Cullen returned to pacing throughout the tents, milling aimlessly from task to task as he busied his hands in the hopes of distracting his mind. The day crawled past into an eternal night. Cullen couldn't rest. Elfroot for the injured. Food for the hungry. More wood for the fires. Distribute blankets. Melt snow for drinking water. Guard the perimeter.

Kaitlyn never left his thoughts. The discolored skin of her bruises, the struggled wheeze of her breath, the freezing weight of her in his arms. He hovered around the healer's tent, Varric's voice a comforting drone against the darkness.

A second day passed.

Then a third.

Bull returned to the rest of the Chargers. Kaitlyn's bruises yellowed around the edges, her fingers thawed to their natural color. But whatever the healers tried, she remained asleep. 

Cullen sat down at her bedside, Varric dozing in the corner, the book dangling from his loosening hands.

"Kaitlyn?" Cullen asked. Foolish, he knew, to expect her to awaken at the sound of his voice. But that didn't stop the hope from building within his chest. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, relief trickling down his spine at the warmth he felt. He checked her bandages then her pillow then her bandages again. Glancing over his shoulder, Cullen shifted closer to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've found you sooner. I should've been quicker, smarter. Maker forgive me, Kate, if you don't come out of this, I..."

His fault. If she died it would be _his_ fault.

Again.

His hands fisted in his frustration and inner rage. "I'll do whatever it takes to to help you recover." He paused before taking one of her hands into his own. He warmed her fingers between his palms, wishing there could be some defined task that would revive her.

A fourth day came.

Cullen battled the weariness in his drooping eyes, his shoulder hovering above Kaitlyn's cot. His head rolled down, nearly resting on her pillow.

"Tired, Commander?"

Cullen mumbled something as he rubbed his eyes. He should've let Cassandra take over when she'd offered but even the thought of leaving Kaitlyn's side now—He blinked, head shifting to the side.

Kaitlyn gave him a weak smile dimmed somewhat by the wince that followed.

"You're awake."

"Yes," she said. "I believe I am."

"You're awake."

"More awake than you are at the moment."

Cullen straightened, eyes wide as they swept over her. She had propped herself on her pillow, the bowl of soup on the nearby table drained of its contents. He grinned. "You're awake!"

"I think we've covered that part, Commander."

Cullen laughed freely. He tore from his seat, shouting for the whole camp to hear that their Herald had awoken. He returned to Kaitlyn's side as cries of relief and joy built into a cacophony.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"No, but I think I will be." She settled back into her pillows with a deep groan. "Then again, maybe not. Did it work, at least?"

"We got everyone in the Chantry out safely, but Haven is lost. Morale’s been low since then, though I suspect news of your awakening will greatly improve things before the day is out." He shot a glare over his shoulder at the heads and buzzing whispers of people wanting to glimpse their Herald. She was an injured woman, not some object to be gawked at. He pushed them from his mind, grateful that Cassandra was shooing them away as he said, "But none of that matters. You only need to focus on recovering."

"Recovering sounds nice." Kaitlyn smiled. She settled down with a soft sigh. She stared at him, her cheeks darkening. "Despite what happened to Haven, I'm glad that you—that so many made it out."

Cullen’s fingers brushed along her hand. “As am I.”

Kaitlyn flushed and glanced away as she bit her bottom lip.

“You stayed behind,” Cullen said. “You could’ve—I will not allow this to happen to you again. You have my word.”

Her smile grew when their eyes met. “Be careful what you promise, Commander.”

He returned the expression with a grin, beaming until his cheeks ached. “Rest now.”

“Mmm, rest.” She closed her eyes, words trailing off into a murmur about strange dreams with qunari.

He tucked the blankets around her, his heart brimming over with every prayer of thanks he knew. Alive. Kaitlyn was _alive_. He let out a shuddering breath, welcoming the deep weariness that overtook him.

Alive. Maker bless her, she was alive. And he would be there when she awoke again. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens on a dream/memory of Kinloch Hold so there's blood and death. If you want to skip this, go down to the first page break.

Screams echoed through the hallway.

Cullen grabbed a mage as they began to run past. He brought the man close to his face, studying the sheer terror in the mage’s brown eyes. He was quivering in Cullen’s hold. Blood had been splattered across his cheeks; his hands were scuffed and bruised.

“What happened?!” Cullen demanded.

“It’s Uldred. He’s— _they’ve_ gone insane. They’re killing everyone! Everyone! They’re insane!” He wrested himself from Cullen’s grip and continued down the hall at a sprint.

Shifting his shield from his back and onto his left arm, Cullen drew his sword and plunged into the oncoming fray. He shouted directions, places with wards meant to protect those inside, doing what her could to mitigate the growing madness. He paused when he came across a group of children being herded about by Wynne.

“I’ll take care of these little ones,” she told Cullen before he could speak. “Your attentions are needed elsewhere.” She scuttled by, ushering the children forward together like a mother hen.

“Keep going!” he shouted to the rest. “Don’t look back no matter what you hear!”

“Cullen!”

“Sam!” Cullen rushed forward as a fellow templar came stumbling around the corner. Blood leaked out between the plates of his armor, staining the stone he crumpled onto. His breathing was harsh and ragged, coming out in short puffs that flecked the floor with fine droplets of blood. Cullen knelt at his side, his hands hovering above the fallen man as his mind raced with a haphazard mess of protocols and rules.

Sam gripped Cullen’s arm, fingers tightening enough to make Cullen’s bones ache. “Killing everyone,” he gasped. “I-if they won’t join. Killing. Mad. Wants blood. Prisons. Killing…”

Cullen screamed his name when his head fell limp against the stone, eyes wide and vacant. He gave the man a firm shake. Ice pricked his chest as the screams continued to rise. The prisons. Uldred had been killing the mages locked away in the prisons.

 _Maker, no_.

“Move!” Cullen roared as he surged to his feet. He barreled forward, the fleeing mages parting before his out held sword. He didn’t pause, didn’t flinch, didn’t doubt as he cut through the abominations and demons in his path. His sword flashed when he swung in, his own screams silent in his ears as he hacked his way down to the lowest floor.

The place reeked of death.

It was a bitter scent that clawed its way down his throat, leaving the acrid taste of bile in its wake. The stench overwhelmed him, sending his head spiraling as his eyes swept over the dozen or so corpses in the rooms: templars meant to guard their charges, mages who were bringing food down to the prisoners—steam was still rising off a bowl of stew on the floor—and… and…

“ _No_.” Cullen didn’t even realize his knees had buckled until he found himself sprawled across the bricks, his sword and shield abandoned at his sides. His legs couldn’t carry him. He crawled. He used his arms to drag himself forward, more tempted than ever to retch, as he pulled himself up to one of the bodies.

Scarlet stained pale blue robes. The woman’s lips were parted in a scream, brown eyes vacant, skin impossibly pale.

“Please no,” Cullen whimpered as he pulled her into his lap. He felt for a pulse, leaned his cheek over her parted her lips in hopes of feeling her breath. Nothing.

“Please, Lara. _Please_.” He tucked her in his arms, burying his face into her neck. Even in death, her hair carried the scent of her jasmine bath oils—a gift sent from her cousin, she’d said. “Please, Lara. Please don’t be dead. Please. Please, please, _please_.” He cradled her to him, rocking back and forth as the warmth slowly leeched from her body.

“Well, well,” a woman’s voice came from over his shoulder. “ _This_ one’s going to be fun.”

 

* * *

 

 “Lara!” Cullen fought against his restraints. He growled and clawed in the darkness before bolting upright. He blinked against the black, his blankets coiled around his waist. He panted hard as reality settled onto his shoulders. Kirkwall. Inquisition. Commander. _Kaitlyn_.

He ran his hands over his face and groaned. It’d been months since he’d dreamt of Lara, months since his waking thoughts had drifted to their time together in Kinloch Hold.

With shaking fingers, Cullen disentangled himself from the mess of blankets. Leliana and Cassandra’s voices leaked through the thin tent.

“—cannot refuse to accept the offer,” Leliana said.

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “But we need to find a place that is more defendable. A single pack of bears could wreak havoc with how thinly spread our guards are.”

“Solas has approached me about a fortress to the north of here that should be available for use. I’ve sent several scouts ahead to ensure it’s unoccupied before we move the bulk of our forces.”

Cullen rubbed his face again, trying to drive the sleep that lingered from his eyes as he slipped on his mantle and stepped out into the dim lighting of pre-dawn. “What are you two talking about?”

“Trevelyan,” Leliana said. “Josephine and I thought she would be perfect for our Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor?” Cullen frowned, reaching the table where they’d been studying maps. “Have you even asked her if she’d be willing to take up the post?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Leliana asked.

He blinked then glared at the pair of them. “Perhaps it’s because she was only at the conclave as a representative for the First Enchanter of her former Circle and not there to prepare for more warfare like the rest of us. Or because she was never given a choice when we first compelled her to assist us. Or because she all but died less than a day ago and you already want to put her into a position which will attract yet _more_ danger to her. Or maybe it’s because she’s already risked and lost enough for a cause she never asked to be a part of!”

He was shouting by the end, his hands clenched at his sides. He had _chosen_ to join. Josephine had _chosen_ to join. Kaitlyn had been a prisoner who’d had her life threatened, who’d been coerced into fighting. She’d excelled at her missions, excelled under the constant pressure put upon her. But this had never been her burden to bear.

“Commander,” Leliana said slowly, a smile tugging at her lips. “I had no idea that you felt so… _passionately_ about the subject.”

“I—” Cullen flushed when the pair of them exchanged a furtive glance. “You should at least _ask_ Kait—the Herald if she’s willing to accept the position before planning on it.”

“Then we’ll leave that task to you,” Cassandra said. “There’s also this matter which needs her attention—assuming that she accepts the task, of course.” She slid a stack of papers across the table towards him. “Feel free to add your own proposal, if you wish.”

Cullen pursed his lips as he flipped through the information. Some noble who valued an unobstructed yard over helping refugees. He rolled his eyes at the nonsense of it all before tucking the papers underneath his arm. “Very well.”

Josephine cleared her throat as she approached. She smiled at Cullen, but the gesture was laced with worry. He should’ve checked himself in the mirror before leaving his tent. After a night like that, he was sure to have deep bags under his eyes and sweat-plastered hair.  

“The healers say that Lady Trevelyan is recovering quickly.” Josephine’s eyes rested on Cullen for a moment, her words lingering over him before she turned to the others. “We should be able to move in a day or two if the scouts report favorably on Skyhold.”

“So soon?” Cullen asked. “Surely she needs more time to rest than just another day.” The bruises that her covered Kaitlyn’s skin made _him_ ache. She had likely suffered several broken bones and dislocated joints. Even if she were to be carried, the journey would only make her condition that much worse.

“Perhaps you should try to convince her to rest,” Josephine said.

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “I believe the Herald’s awake now. Perhaps you should speak to her, Commander. Express your concerns in person.”

“I—” Cullen stuttered for a moment, his cheeks warming as all three women stared at him. “I will,” he muttered before taking his leave. He headed back towards his tent, pausing for a moment, before deciding that he didn’t need to layer on the armor to see Kaitlyn on her sickbed.

“Hey there, Curlaaaaaay.” Varric’s yawn stretched out the word. He grumbled to himself, shoulders rolling in an obvious effort not to drop down on the ground and fall asleep right there at Cullen’s feet. Instead, Varric started trudging past, muttering over his shoulder, “Don’t wear Sweets out too much.”

Cullen glared at the retreating dwarf when he started to chuckle.

“Herald?” he asked, poking his head just inside the flaps.

Kaitlyn smiled, giving him a little wave to step inside. He did, then stopped. _The Tale of the Champion_ rested on the table beside her, a bookmark nearly at the end of the story.

“I heard Varric reading to you.” His voice was lower than he’d meant it to be. He clenched his hands, tempted to look away before she could accuse him with her eyes.

“Can’t remember hardly any of it. I know there was a big deal about some Qunari.” There was laughter in her voice and when he met her gaze, she was grinning. “Something about running in circles and red lyrium and flying vases and a nice night for an evening and a… a… Is _that_ why Varric calls you ‘Curly’?”

“What?”

She gestured towards his hair, wincing slightly as she did so. “Your hair. I mean, there’s just so much of it.”

“It’s hardly—”

“It looks like it’s alive,” Kaitlyn continued, still grinning. “If I poked it, I’d half-expect it to move.”

“It’s not nearly that—”

“How much product do you have to use every morning to make it smooth like it is?”

“Not much. I just use—This is hardly something we need to be talking about!”

She laughed and settled further down into her bed. She gave a soft, contented sigh, her eyes closing for a brief moment. “All right then, Commander. What can I do for you?”

Cullen glanced between her and the book before taking a seat beside her. “There’s another mission that Leliana and Josephine wanted you to look over.”

“Already? Goodness, I didn’t expect to still be this popular by this point.”

He smiled at her easy tone, his body releasing the tension his nightmares had brought as he settled down at her side. Maker, but her smile was beautiful. It was natural and warm and unburdened—something that shouldn’t have been possible with the pain buried behind her eyes. Cullen cleared his throat, focusing on the papers as he told her about the situation, concentrating on the individual words so he wouldn’t be distracted by the soft curve of her left shoulder and the way it was exposed between bandages; so he wouldn’t notice the way said bandages pressed her breasts together in the most delightful of ways; so he wouldn’t think about how warm and smooth her skin appeared and how much he desired to find out the truth first-hand.

“And what would _you_ suggest?”

“What?” Cullen asked, caught off guard by Kaitlyn’s voice.

“What do you think we should do about the nobleman?”

“The noble’s family is a small one,” he said dismissively. As if that made a difference. Any ‘nobleman’ who sat around in their estate all day was nothing more than an over-stuffed nug. “I say that we help the refugees and let them stay where they are. We should _help_ those in need of help. Is that not the idea the Inquisition was founded on? Furthermore, the Inquisition might be small, but look at all that we’ve managed to accomplish so far! We closed the Breach. We saved the mages from the Tevinter Imperium and even got what templars remained to come over to our side. And then what you did again Corypheus, standing against him alone and I’m giving you a lecture again, aren’t I.” He laughed at himself, cheeks warming as he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, wanting to hide his face.

“That’s all right.” Her hand brushed his arm and he looked at her. “I… I like how passionate you are about all of this. Remember?”

He flushed again, thinking over the first time they’d talked at the war table. It was hard to believe how much time had passed since then. “I remember.”

Kaitlyn’s fingers slid down the length of his arm. Their hands met and she squeezed his fingers before tucking her hand into her lap, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“I agree with you,” she said. “About the nobleman, I mean. We should help the refugees first. We’re refugees ourselves, after all.

“About that.” Cullen set the papers aside, wanting to buy himself a few extra seconds. “Have you been told who Leliana and the others want for Inquisitor?”

“Cassandra?” she guessed.

“You.”

Kaitlyn started to laugh, to roll her eyes back into her head. She stopped when he kept his expression deadpan.

“You’re—” She let out a half-hearted chuckle. “You’re serious? Wait, you’re _actually_ serious?” She started to sit up, let out a mild cry of pain, and crumbled back onto the bed. “ _Inquisitor_ Trevelyan? And here I thought being called the Herald was bad enough.”

“Don’t care for titles?” he asked, smiling, wanting to ease the tension in the lines forming in her face.

“Titles are fine. It’s the people they belong to who I generally don’t care for.” She let out a deep breath. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do. So long as you have that mark, we’ll need your help to close the rifts, but I don’t believe anyone would force you to be Inquisitor against your will. But it _does_ make a certain kind of sense.”

Kaitlyn arched a brow at him. “It does?”

“You were the one who’s inspired, recruited, and led us to where we are now. We would be nowhere, we would be nothing, if you hadn’t been here to hold us all together.”

“You mean if _this_ —” She raised her left hand. The green shone through the bandages when she wriggled her fingers. “Hadn’t been here.”

“No,” he said, shifting closer. “I mean _you_.”

Kaitlyn inspected her fingers, a fetching pink spreading across her skin as she smiled.

Cullen floundered for a moment as the silence stretched out between them. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut only to repeat the process. He needed to come up with something clever, something to distract the pair of them from their current conversation, something that would hide the stifling awkwardness pressing down on his chest.

“Do you play chess?” he asked instead.

“…sorry?”

“Chess?” His voice was practically a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We’d agreed to, uh, spend some time talking before… well, before everything fell apart at Haven. Perhaps we could do that now instead? I have a board, if you’re interested.”

Kaitlyn blinked a few times, staring at him as though he’d suddenly thrown on a dress and danced the remigold. Then she laughed and broke out into the widest grin he’d ever seen.

“I feel like I should warn you, Commander; I was the best player in my Circle.” She puffed out her chest as much as her bandages would allow, her smug expression only somewhat successful.

Cullen put on a shocked expression. “Well then, Herald. Fair’s fair. I just so happen to be the top player in the Circles I served in as well. And I’ve yet to lose a single game to anyone in the Inquisition either, even when they try to cheat.”

“Then there’s no choice about it, Commander. I’d like to formally challenge you on this supposed winning streak. Let’s put this record of yours to the test.”

 

* * *

 

 “White or black, Commander?” Kaitlyn asked. She smirked over the pieces at him. After some of the healers had stuffed some extra pillows to let her sit up, Cullen had found a small table to set the game on. Several of the pieces were scorched around the edges and a portion of the board had been burned so only the outline of the spaces could be seen. It was another reminder of what they’d lost and what they’d managed to save.

“I think it’s only fair that the injured party gets to choose.”

“This?” She scoffed and glanced down to the stained and worn strips of cloth holding her injuries together. “This is a handicap. It wouldn’t be a level playing field if I didn’t wince and suffer each and every time I moved.” She smirked, wanting to make it obvious that she was teasing him. She relaxed when he smiled, her chest tightening at the simple expression. She glanced down to the board, shifting it around until Cullen finally declared himself for white.

He moved a pawn and she reciprocated.

“So,” she said, “how long have you been playing?”

“Since I was a child. My sister Mia used to make the rest of us play with her. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won which was _all_ the time. Branson—my brother—and I used to practice for weeks in secret whenever we got the chance; the _look_ on her face the day I finally won—” His laughter was rich and full as he moved his second piece. “That moment was worth the frustration of all the losses that had come before. Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them I years… I wonder if she still plays.”

Kaitlyn paused at the intense nostalgia in his voice. “Are they terribly far away?”

“They moved to South Reach after our parents—after the Blight moved through Honnleath.” He cleared his throat, a touch of pain flitting across his face before it smoothed over in a mask of control. “What of your family?”

“Don’t have one,” she said automatically, her mind focused on the game as she picked up the bishop she intended to move.

“Don’t…? Josephine said you had two brothers.”

“Two brothers?” She blinked, her bishop hovering over an empty square. “I… I suppose I do. I’ve never met them, though.”

“Never?” he asked.

She shook her head as she set the piece down a little harder than she’d meant to. “I was sent off to the Circle the day they were born. I don’t suppose, I mean, did Josephine ever…? Never mind.”

“What?”

“Do you think she knows what their names are?” Kaitlyn’s cheeks burned under the shock in his face, the surprise that bordered on accusation. “It’s not important. Forget I asked.”

“You don’t know their—”

“It’s not important,” she said again, voice rising in pitch. She nudged the board closer to him. It’d been foolish to ask. She should’ve kept her mouth shut, kept her curiosity to herself until she had a chance to ask Josephine directly.

Cullen fell silent for a moment, studying the board before making his next move. “She does know their names,” he said after a while. “She told me them earlier—before we first met back at Haven. I can’t remember them now, but it sounds like she could help you find out whatever you wanted.”

Kaitlyn watched him beneath her lashes. His face held no pity. Understanding, yes, sympathy even, but not pity.

“Thank you,” she whispered. A few more moves and then she asked, “So there’s Branson and Mia. Any other siblings?”

“My younger sister, Rosalie.” Cullen smiled again. His fingers twirled the piece he held in an absent, haphazard manner. “Maker’s breath, she was seven the last time I saw her.”

“And now?”

“She’d be twenty-four next month,” he said, his words a mixture of pride and regret. “I doubt I’d recognize her if I saw her now.”

“You should have them visit some time. When we’re situated in something better than a mess of tents tearing apart at the seams, of course.”

“Perhaps you're right.”

Kaitlyn returned his smile. The expression was nice on him. She liked the way his eyes softened when he smiled, how the smile consumed the entirety of his face when he looked at her, how he seemed to lean forward a little bit more each time he moved a piece.

Returning to the game, she took up a rook, intent on claiming a knight he’d left undefended, and paused. The piece was open—no traps or tricks for retaliation that she could see. It’d place her far ahead in the game, not only claiming his piece but setting her deep into his territory where she could easily claim others.

Kaitlyn glanced up to him, down to the board, then back to his face. There was a subtle mirth in his expression. He wasn’t an utterly horrendous liar, but he was no Leliana when it came to deception. The cheeky templar bastard was _letting_ her win.

She scoffed at the notion. Flipping her tactics, she scanned the board and all but slammed her rook down into the absolute worst place possible. Two of his pawns _and_ a bishop could claim it without fear of reprisal.

_Take that, Commander. I’d like to see you try and do worse._

Kaitlyn sat back on her mountain of pillows, arms crossing over her chest—which was really more like resting them in her lap. She wanted to show him up, but wasn’t about to reopen any wounds to do it.

“Your move, Commander.”

“So I see,” he murmured. His fingers hovered across the board, before he took his Queen and shoved her into Kaitlyn’s territory.

She arched a brow at him, mentally asking _Is this where we’re going now? Not even trying to hide it anymore?_

Cullen merely grinned in response. “I do believe it’s your move again, _Inquisitor_.”

“How magnanimous of you.” Taking her own Queen, Kaitlyn placed it in front of several of his pawns.

And so the game continued, each of them trying to outdo the other in a mess of bad moves and horrendous decisions. After an hour of the absolute worst game of chess to ever have been played in Thedas, not a single piece lost between them, Cullen let out a deep groan, a hand raking through his hair, as he nudged one of his pawns forward to claim her king.

“And this one’s mine,” he said, his glare playful as he chuckled.

“It seems luck favored you today, Commander.”

“Yes. Luck. That’s exactly what it was.”

Kaitlyn laughed. She leaned forward, elbow resting on the board. When he did the same, her cheeks began to warm. He was close, bordering on intimate. She could see the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the faint marks and scars that had worn his face over the last decade of his service. His eyes were amber in the light—molten and warm, inviting her to take a closer look, daring her to get lost along the way.

“I had fun today,” she whispered, hardly daring to speak at all. “The distraction was nice.”

“We should do it again some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he said.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

They stayed like that for a minute, neither of them moving or speaking. Finally, Cullen’s eyes flicked to the book beside her.

“I, uh, I should let you get some more rest.”

“Right,” she said, ignoring the slight pang of disappointment that shot through her. She helped him set away the pieces, his hands carefully avoiding her own before he stood beside her bed.

“I’ll check in on you later,” he promised before moving to leave.

“Commander!”

“Yes?”

“I…” She flushed when she realized she had nothing to say. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Herald.” He gave her a slight bow, his posture stiffer than before, his eyes once again falling to the book beside her.

And then he was gone. 


	9. Chapter 9

To say that Skyhold was in ruins was to say the mark on her hand was a scratch.

Kaitlyn limped up the staircase, leaning heavily on Cassandra’s offered arm. They moved slow—each step its own aching challenge. The illusion that she’d somehow managed to heal over their two days of travel was an important one to maintain for the people gathering in the courtyard below. The Herald of Andraste, now official leader of the Inquisition, had to be _more_.

 _Keep your back straight, my dear,_ Vivienne’s voice rang in her head. Kaitlyn stifled a groan as she tried to make her movements appear as natural as possible.

When she’d accepted the role of Inquisitor earlier in front of the advisers, Cullen had stared at her as though she’d declared that everyone must return to the old ways of worshipping Dumat. _“Why do such a thing?”_

Kaitlyn faltered on the final step, her hand flying up to her side. Pain shot throughout her body like lightning and her breath came in sharp pants. The world grew unsteady. Cassandra’s hands tightened on her arm.

“Can you make it?” Cassandra asked under her breath.

“Give me a moment.”

_Why do such a thing?_

Kaitlyn ground her teeth together as she forced her body to move forward and accept the sword Leliana offered. A whimper escaped her as she took the full weight of the weapon. A second whimper followed as Cassandra moved away. Hefting the sword and testing her grip, she looked down at Cullen, barely able to make out the words he said as he roused the crowd. She inspected the length of the blade, noting the worn edges time had given it.

_Why do such a thing?_

To stop Corypheus. To protect the soldiers and civilians she’d come to know. To show Thedas that mages didn’t have to be feared—that mages were people before they were anything else which meant as good and as flawed as any other.

Kaitlyn shifted her grip, waiting for Cullen to finish before thrusting the sword into the air. She gave of a shriek of pain but deepened it instantly in the hopes that the others would take it as a war cry. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck. A faint buzzing grew in her ears. Cassandra’s voice was distant as firm hands took the sword and guided her up towards the main hall of the keep. Kaitlyn’s arm was oddly light without the weapon.

“I think that went rather well,” Leliana said as Cassandra helped Kaitlyn into a chair.

Cullen stopped in front of her, his hand coming to brush against hers. “You did well, Inquisitor.”

She glanced up to see him smiling. The bags under his eyes resembled bruises, but despite the weariness in his expression, there was a sense of relief in the way the corners of his mouth lifted up.

“Thank you,” she managed before easing down with a sighed groan. “I’m glad Solas knew about this place, but I don’t think it’ll hold an army.”

“We’ve already started gathering our forces in the valley below,” Josephine said. Her voice carried on but the words didn’t register as Kaitlyn’s side continued to ache and throb. She tried to relax and nod in all the right places as the facts about their forces and connections piled up. Winter Palace. Adamant. Wardens. Corypheus. Yes, yes. I’ll get it done. I’m fine. Yes, I’m listening. Dark future. Samson. Corypheus. Red lyrium. Yes, I’ll remember.

Kaitlyn blinked when it was suddenly Varric who was staring at her.

“You finally here with me, Sweets?”

“I—” She sat up straighter in her chair and looked around. “Where are the others?”

“Gone. You’ve been in a daze for quite a while now. I wager you wouldn’t have noticed if Andraste herself had walked naked through the room.”

She shot him a mild glare and he chuckled. “Is there something I can help you with, Varric?”

He waved a hand. “It’s what _I_ can do that I came to discuss. There’s, uh, there’s someone that I’ve contacted—someone who can help us with Corypheus.”

“Oh?”

He stared at her, eyebrows raised as though he expected her to already know the answer. “You weren’t listening at all when I read _The Tale of the Champion,_ were you?”

“Um… well, it all got sort of fuzzy after the ogre and the dragon lady.” She flushed when he pursed his lips. “I’ve already restarted reading it from the beginning; Hawke’s helping Fenris chase after Danarius but he wasn’t in the mansion.”

“You have a ways to go then. It’s just as well. They won’t be here for a few more days.” He turned as if to leave, paused, then looked at her. “Sweets. There’s, uh—” He shook his head and brought a hand up to his furrowing brow. “There’s going to be some stuff in that book that’s, well—things were so different back in Kirkwall. It’s hard to describe if you’ve never been there for yourself. A sort of weight; a constant nagging at the back of your neck and—”

Kaitlyn placed a hand on his shoulder and he fell silent. “I consider you a friend, Varric. Whatever I read won’t change that.”

He gave her a wry smile. “It’s not _me_ I’m thinking about, Sweets.” He shook his head again before patting her hand. “You’ll see soon enough, I suppose.”

Kaitlyn started to ask what he meant but he was already walking away, muttering something about a promise over his shoulder. She tried to follow but her ribs allowed her a mere three steps before locking her in place. She wheezed and half-staggered-half-fell towards the door. Pushing magic into her right hand, she pressed it up against her side, shuddering as her own magic flooded through her body, knitting the bones, healing the bruises. She was panting by the time she pulled her hand away.

A step forward and her knees shook. She looked down at the sheer drop a few inches from her toes. She wobbled as she did so, her head going light.

“Inquisitor!”

She recognized Cullen’s voice long before his arm wrapped around her and pulled her away. He all but carried her back inside the hall, his arms steady around her. She leaned against his mantle, going boneless against him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as he continued to escort-carry her into the kitchens. “Head hasn’t stopped spinning since this morning. Not very Inquisitor-y of me, is it.”

With no chairs to sit in, Cullen set her down on a cleared section of the counter. She almost pouted when he stepped away, missing the warmth of the mantle.

“It’s because you’re pushing yourself too hard.” He fetched a glass of water and watched as she drank it before pressing a second into her hands. Their fingers brushed together and he lingered there a moment. She was about a hand’s width shorter than him on her feet but being on the counter made them level. Cullen stepped closer. His scruff was thicker than usual, edging into a beard. His eyes had darkened to a deep gold, unable to stay focused on one spot as they kept shifting down towards her lips. She licked them automatically. He took another step.

Maker, but his hand was warm. Her skin prickled under the touch and her stomach fluttered when he settled mere inches from her. He smelled of elderflower and oakmoss and hot metal.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he said.

Kaitlyn flushed at how his deepened voice sent a shiver up her spine, at how his fingers continued to rest softly on her skin. “I could say the same thing about you, Commander. But there’s no need to worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

He smiled at that. “I’ll _always_ worry about you.”

She looked away and pressed the glass to her lips, hoping to hide her grin. She cleared her throat when the cup was drained, certain her cheeks were as scarlet as the fur of his mantle.

“I understand that Leliana’s prepared a room for you downstairs near the library while the workers finish restoring the eastern wing. Your things should already be there.” His hand fell away but he stayed there, close enough that she could see the faintest trace of freckles on his nose. “I _highly_ recommend you shirk all responsibilities until after you’ve had some sleep.”

“How scandalous!” She gave an exaggerated gasp. “My war advisor telling me to do _nothing_?”

Cullen rolled his eyes at that and took the empty glass from her hands. “Recovering from your injuries is hardly doing nothing.” He filled it with water again and placed it down at her side. “Please promise me that you’ll at least try to take it easy.”

“… I promise.”

He smiled and her stomach fluttered.

“There’s, uh—” He broke away suddenly, retreating a few paces. “There _is_ something that I need to discuss with you once you’re feeling better. Now that you’re officially the Inquisitor, there are a few things that you need to know. About me.”

“Oh?” She slid off the counter, barely able to keep herself from following him as he continued to move away.

“It’s nothing of great importance, but I think you should be aware of… certain things.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I simply—” He let out a breath and shook his head. “It would be best to save this discussion until you’re well again, I think. I’m located in the tower above the portcullis if you need me. Until then, Inquisitor.” He gave a stiff bow and before she could call him back, he was gone.

Kaitlyn stood there, blinking at where he’d been standing only seconds before. “All right then,” she muttered to herself. She rifled through the cupboards, taking a mere half of the cookies she’d found. Using her shirt to carry the haphazard bundle, she tiptoed her way through the great hall, her head down and hair brushed over her face to keep as invisible as possible. She only had to stop twice to catch her breath as she made her way downstairs. It took a few wrong guesses and a set of flustered half-naked women, but she found the room intended for her. _Tale of the Champions_ was already set on the small table beside the bed.

When the door shut with a muffled clank and the latch slid over, she stopped to rest her forehead against the wood. Her room. Her own room. She laughed when her eyes began to prick. She had almost believed that she’d never get to experience such a luxury. What did people even do when they had a room all their own? Strip down? Dance naked? Sing horrendously off-key? Perhaps all three at the same time?

She laughed at the mental image. Perhaps _after_ her ribs stopped pounding with pain.

Setting down on the bed with the cookies in her lap and extra candles set out to burn, she pulled out Varric’s book and began to read.

* * *

Kaitlyn gripped the book until the color drained from her fingers. Frost spread across the ornate cover until the Champion’s Tale was little more than a brick of ice. Anger seeped into her bones and burned through her veins until her entire being ached to scream and tear.

_Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me. They are weapons._

_Templars have dominance over mages by divine right._

_Mages cannot be our friends. They must always be watched._

_I’ll always worry about you._

Of course the bastard would worry. After all, she might turn into a monster at any given moment and he’d have to be there to protect the innocent nobility from the evil mage. With a growl, she let go of the book, not wanting to do any more damage to Varric’s gift.

“The nerve of him!” She got on her feet, her pain barely making her twinge as she stormed about the room, the candles flickering whenever she passed. “We have to get the templars! We have to get the templars! Urgh! And to think that he—that _I_ —” She let out another scream of frustration.

_Mage. **Monster**. You deserve to be locked up. You deserve to be punished for what you are. _

She slammed her hand against the latch of the door. The metal let out a low groan before it shattered under her touch, falling to the ground in chunks. She took a deep breath, trying to control the rage as it spread through her, consuming her from the inside.

This man who hated mages, who had watched them be tormented but had done nothing, who believed that they were not even human, who ‘understood’ the desire to make all mages Tranquil— _this man_ was supposed to be her Commander? Someone she was supposed to trust and rely on?

Kaitlyn stormed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Night had settled in while she’d read, leaving only a handful of guards in her path. None approached her.

“Varric!”

The dwarf started in his chair where he’d been writing. His fingers were blotted with black ink and he had spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He took them off as she grew closer and tucked them away in one of his pockets.

“I take it you’ve finished the book?”

Kaitlyn pounded a fist onto the table—harder than she’d intended—and the wood cracked down the center. She sighed, stowing her apology to Josephine away for later. Varric settled down into his chair, his face devoid of his emotion, eyes studying her warily when she turned on him.

“I did finish it,” she snarled through her teeth. She forced herself back a step. Her anger was not at him. Nor was the sense of loss that was creeping along behind it. Cullen had almost… she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for his ploy. The trustworthy templar who believed in protecting mages. She should’ve known better. “And I need to know _exactly_ what happened in Kirkwall with the Commander.”

“Why?”

She frowned at how calm he remained, as though she had asked whether or not it would rain tomorrow. “Because if I’m going to _discuss_ —” She emphasized the word mostly for herself. It would do no good for the Inquisitor to kill her Commander on the same day that she’d been placed into power. “—things with him then I should know the truth first.”

“And whose truth do you want?” Varric tilted his head to the side, expression unchanged. “If you’re asking if he really said those things, then yes, he said them. He said a lot more than that too—some worse, some a lot better. But you need to understand that I first met Curly years ago. He said those things, yes, but he’s not that same person anymore.”

“You’re actually defending him?”

He reached out to touch her shoulder but withdrew it when she pulled away. “You said that you wanted to know the truth. That’s the truth. But it’s _him_ that you need to be asking.”

Kaitlyn scoffed and headed to the rotunda. She grumbled under her breath when Varric shouted _You’re welcome!_ over her shoulder.

“ _Not the same person_ , ha!” She clenched and unclenched her hands, barely even noting Solas as he slept.

Mages are not people. They are weapons. Mages cannot be our friends.

Grief mixed in with the rage as she marched across the battlements to his tower. She’d been such a fool. Kaitlyn clutched at her chest as the ache grew stronger. She’d been so desperate for a friend, for something familiar that she’d let herself get close to someone who wouldn’t even bat an eye if she were to be made tranquil—made _manageable_. Maker’s breath, he’d probably _prefer_ her that way. Unable to say no to the advisers decisions, falling in line behind them, focused entirely on Corypheus.

Kaitlyn raised her hand, settled to knock on Cullen’s door in place of outright demolishing it as she wanted to. Her fist stopped short of its destination as a long, low moan echoed from within the tower.

Waves of embarrassment crashed over on her, overwhelming her anger. She paused, wondering if it had been a trick of the ear, or perhaps a creak from one of the other doors. With her ears pricked up, she waited. Another, louder, moan followed that trailed off into a faint whimper.

She glanced around, unsure of what to do. Bursting in and demanding to speak to Cullen while he was in the middle of someone, all sweaty and scrunch-faced, was not how she wanted the evening to go. A note, then? But what would she write? _I found out you’re a bastard. Report to me – Your Inquisitor._ Yes. And that wouldn’t circulate so everyone knew about it. That would only earn her pitiful glances and raised eyebrows.

_He’s a templar; what had you expected? You accepted him as a Commander without even knowing that?_

Kaitlyn groaned and ran her hand over her face instead. She turned to leave. The tips of her ears turned red when yet another cry came from Cullen.

“ _Please_ —”

She flushed and shook her head as though that would block out her ears.

“ _Please stop!_ ”

She paused mid-step then eased backwards and pressed her ear to the door. Just to check up on him, of course. She wasn’t peeping. Or spying. Not at all.

“Please,” Cullen’s voice choked on the word. “Please don’t. Stop. P-please. Stop. I know you’re not—you’re not her. No!”

Kaitlyn’s fingers went to the latch. She hesitated. Her anger urged her to walk away, to let him suffer through the nightmare alone. He deserved far more for what he’d done.

“Damnit,” she muttered before pushing the door open. “Cullen? Are you there?”

“Please,” he begged. “Please end this. Just end it, _please_. I can’t— _I can’t._ ”

She crawled up the ladder as fast as she could, her previous pains clinging to her bones as she made her way up to him.

His blankets were thrown across the floor, the sheets beneath him soaked through with sweat. He shifted and muttered, his head thrown from side to side as he whimpered and pleaded. He wore only a loose pair of trousers that barely held to his hips and his hair had reclaimed their curls.

She gawked at him.

A set of five scars, thick and gnarled, had been clawed into his chest above his heart. His right side bore a patch of pink and twisted skin where he’d been burned years before. The hair on his upper body that trailed down to the edge of his trousers was uneven, interrupted by the network of scars he bore from years of being a templar.

Mages had done this to him.

Kaitlyn pursed her lips, refusing to let sympathy enter the moment. She came forward and pressed a hand to his forehead. His skin burned beneath her fingers. One of his hands shot up to wrap around her wrist but he did not wake. The hold was as weak as his voice, feverish and desperate.

“Please stop.”

“Cullen?" She used her other hand to shake him.

He didn’t stir.

“Cullen!” She pried his hand from her when he continued to tremble and gathered the washbasin and pitcher nearby. Pouring out the water into the washbasin, she placed her hand on the surface and let her magic flow through the water. With no rags or spare cloths in the small room, she took one of his blankets and ripped off a corner, then a few more strips just to be sure. A subtle sense of satisfaction curved her lips into a smile as she dropped the ripped blanket back onto the floor.

“Don’t think this changes matters, templar,” she muttered as she sat down on the edge of his bed. “We’re still going to talk about Kirkwall later.” Soaking a cloth, she wrung it out and pressed it to his forehead before eating a touch of healing magic into the strip. “You have to get well again so I can yell at you. And that _is_ a direct order.”

Cullen’s body began to calm to the occasional jerk of his arm or leg. His cries for help quieted to strangled whimpers. She stayed there, placing another chilled strip across his chest, another down his stomach, the fourth and fifth loosely tied around his wrists.

“You have to get well,” she mumbled again as her head began to droop forward. She moved closer, smoothing back his dampened curls. Tilting his neck up, she slipped water into his mouth bit by bit, making sure that he swallowed each time before resting his head in her lap. Another change of cloths. Her eyes itched with the desire to sleep. Another change. She yawned. Grey came in through the hole in the ceiling. More sips of water. “You… have to… get well…”

* * *

Cullen’s eyes felt like sandy cotton balls when he blinked them open. The light filtering into the room made him groan. He raised a hand to block it out and blinked when a wet cloth slid off his wrist and smacked him across the face.

“What in the Maker’s name?” He pulled it off with an irritated growled and stopped short. Kaitlyn was rested back against the headboard in a position that must’ve been excruciatingly uncomfortable. Her full lips were parted. Her chest rose and fell in time with her slow breathing. He flushed as he realized that his head rested in her lap. A mere turn of his neck and their position would become an intimate one.

He froze in place, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes roamed around the room. He remembered feeling ill the night before. Lara in Kinloch Hold. The demon who stole her face as it whispered lies into his ear. A shudder ran through him that he couldn’t suppress.

Kaitlyn stirred. A hand came up to rub her face.

Cullen clamped his eyes shut, arms shooting down to his sides as he thought invisible sleepy thoughts.

She peeled the cloth from his forehead and felt the skin with her hand. His heart skipped then clenched when her fingers shifted down to his neck, her every touch gentle. _Maker_ , but she had soft hands. Soft and blessedly cool. He let his mind drift for a moment, let himself imagine her fingers wrapping around his neck for a different reason. Her nails scraping through his scalp. Her breath on his lips. The warm brush of her tongue against his own. The light sigh of his name when he kissed her.

She was so close to him now. It would be a simple thing to reach out and touch her face. She’d stayed with him, after all. She’d seen him in his broken state and had stayed the night, had nursed him. Maybe… maybe if he brought her close and cupped her cheek as he wanted, he’d find that she desired the intimacy as much as he did.

Cullen cracked an eye open when she lifted his head out of her lap and shuffled to the edge of his bed. He stayed there, debating, when a sharp shriek was followed by a heavy thud.

“Kaitlyn!” He was up in an instant, his limbs cracking as he stumbled to his feet.

She stared at him with panicked wide eyes. Her head whipped to the ladder and she started to crawl forward on her elbows for her escape.

He stepped towards her. “K—Inquisitor, wait.”

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

Cullen’s jaw shut with a snap. He stood there, every fiber of his being telling him to go to her side. He didn’t understand. Not five minutes past, she’d been holding him, caring for him. Why reject him now?

“I…” He started, the words sticking to his tongue. “Please let me help you.”

“I don’t _want_ your help.” She sat up and beat her hands against her shins. “My legs are asleep. Nothing more.” A blush burned across her cheeks and down her neck.

“Surely, there must be something I can—”

“No.” The sharp edge in her voice was enough to send him back a pace. “I already said I didn’t. At least…”

“Yes?” he pressed. His feelings of uselessness increased with each passing moment.

“Later tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I… you said that you had something you needed to tell me. There’s something that I need to discuss as well, about your position here.”

He faltered at that. Had he not done what she wanted? Perhaps this was over their losses in Haven. The workers had no right to engage in battle. He should’ve done more to stop them. Cullen cleared his throat and said, “I see.”

“Good.” She nodded once and turned away. “I’ll see you later then, Commander.”

Cullen remained standing there long after Kaitlyn had climbed down and left. A deep sense of defeat settled over him as he made his way towards his bed. He had lost something in that moment with her. There’d been no smile in her voice, no warmth or curiosity in her eyes. His dream of holding her, of _kissing_ her faded as he pulled on a fresh shirt and splashed his face with water. He stared at his rippling reflection and wondered what she saw when she looked at him now. A templar? A broken man? A soldier too tied to his blade? He shook his head and continued to dress, praying that when she heard how he’d stopped taking lyrium, it didn’t make things worse. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: canonical references to sexual assault and death

“You’ve been promoted to Knight-Commander?”

Delrin’s chin raised slightly and his back straightened as though Cullen had called him to attention. “Just this morning. The Inquisitor did it herself with what few templars we have bearing witness.”

“I… wasn’t aware. I hope you’ll pardon my lack of attendance.”

Delrin shook his head, pride leaking out of every pore. “I didn’t know of it myself until it happened. The Inquisitor told me to discuss a few matters with you before fully taking over the position.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, trying to focus his attention on the reports and charts he’d read over the night before and  _not_ the way Kaitlyn had looked at him before running out of the room, or the way her face been so close to his own that her hair practically tickled his forehead, or the way she’d stayed with him through the night, nursing him through his night terrors.

“Commander?”

“Yes?” Cullen blinked. “Forgive me, I—my mind was wandering elsewhere. You were saying?”

“I’m to lead the templars and whatever Inquisition soldiers you can spare to find any other survivors of Therinfal Redoubt.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll have a list of those best equipped for facing the red templars to you before the day is out.” Cullen returned to the papers on his desk. He’d made it through several paragraphs when Delrin cleared his throat.

“There’s more?” Cullen asked.

“We’ve received several shipments of phylacteries from Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches.”

“What of them?”

“The Inquisitor said I should defer to you on what becomes of them.”

Cullen blinked at that and settled back into his seat. His thumb drummed against his desk, thinking more of why Kaitlyn would say such a thing than what to do with the phylacteries themselves.

“Commander?” Delrin prompted.

“Store them somewhere safe, somewhere out of sight. Have a templar, seeker, and mage guarding them if you wish to do so—that should cut down on any accusations of abuse.”

“I’ll see that it’s done.” Delrin dismissed himself with a nod, a grin plastered on his face even while he winced at every step, his hand pressed against his side.

Cullen watched him for a moment, his chin in his hand as he stared after the man. It had been nearly eight hours since Kaitlyn had left his office. He’d dismissed her absence at first. She needed to rest after that long night, have some time to herself. But why hadn’t she told him about Barris? Or the phylacteries? Why hadn’t she come to see him yet? Had she forgotten?

He let out a grumbled growl before snatching up his quill and all but smashing it through his desk as he scratched out a report for Master Dennet about the mounts they’d acquired. Busy work. That’s all he had to do. An endless, mindless stream of paper that did nothing to alleviate his thoughts of the Inquisitor.

Maker, she’d looked so upset that morning. Hurt. Betrayed in a way he feared he could not fix.

Cullen shook his head and dove into the paperwork. He grunted when his soldiers passed through on their rounds across the battlements, ignored the nagging hunger building in his stomach, shut everything else out until the setting sun reminded him to find candles before he lost himself to darkness. His chair scraped against the stone when he stood.

“Commander?”

He jumped back, hand going to his sword. He’d unsheathed the weapon several inches before his mind caught up to the situation. Kaitlyn stood in western door. The dying sun illuminated her in scarlet, setting her brown hair on fire and turning her into a creature of myth. Her lips were pressed into a thin line while her eyes settled on the hilt of his blade where his had was still wrapped around it.

“Forgive me, Inquisitor!” His hands jerked away from the weapon, hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment before they settled down at his sides. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I was just about to knock.” She took a single stop forward. The corners of her jaw flexed when she ground her teeth. “You told me that you had something to discuss.”

“I—yes, I did. Several things, actually.” He offered a smile and his chair. She refused them both. He faltered, busying himself with lighting a set of candles to buy a moment to think. It felt petty to ask why he wasn’t informed about Delrin’s promotion. He pushed the matter from his mind and turned back to her. She stood rod-straight, arms crossed behind her back in military fashion, chin up, eyes blank of emotion. Kaitlyn Trevelyan did not stand before him; this woman was the Inquisitor.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you—there’s something I must tell you. Something about me.”

Her jaw clenched, but she gave no reaction otherwise.

Cullen pulled out one of his desk drawers, withdrawing the lyrium kit inside. He ran his fingers over the carving of Andraste. Cassandra had told him to throw it out, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to let go. This had been a vital part of his life for over fifteen years. He’d stopped taking the lyrium but to throw it away? His hands tightened on the box, the lyrium inside singing sweetly to him of relief and power, before he opened the lid to show her.

“As you know, lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off from it  _suffer_.”

“Cut off?”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. It didn’t surprise him that she was ignorant of the practice. To tell the mages that a templar had been punished showed weakness within their ranks. Supposedly, anyway. “Yes. If a templar is not… obedient as they should be, their dose may be reduced or refused altogether. They may even be shut out of the Order as Samson was. I’ve seen men go mad over it. Others simply die. You and Leliana have done well in securing a reliable source for the mages and templar here, but  _I_ —” He released a breath, the confession sticking to his throat. “I no longer take it.”

Kaitlyn’s body relaxed a fraction. Her eyes swept over him, understanding softening her face. “This is what all your headaches have been about. And last night too. How long have you been off it?”

“Since I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

“But why?” She stepped forward, head shaking. “Why would you risk death like that?”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t—I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” Andraste knew he deserved it. He’d been so blinded by his anger, by his belief in the templar’s ideals, that he’d shut out the cries of the suffering. “Even so, I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, more to herself than him.  “Why would you— _why?_ ”

She rushed forward and he retreated until the backs of his legs bumped against his desk. She didn’t stop until she was close enough for him to smell the traces of her soap mixing with the scent of fresh-baked bread and old books. Her cheeks were flushed as she stared at him, face drawn in with anger.

“I don’t understand you, Cullen Rutherford. One moment, you’re kind and gentle—picking up a mage child when they fall. The next, I see your suggestions for the war table which are rarely anything than sheer brute force. I heard that you told the men to stop wearing the templar symbol but you yourself continue to carry it around on your bracers.”

He blinked and looked to his forearms. He’d left his templar armor behind, walking away from Kirkwall with nothing but his training clothes, a small pouch of coins, his lyrium kit, and his brother’s coin. When the Inquisition had offered the armor, he’d accepted without question. “It’s not what you think. I needed armor that fit me and I took what was available. Nothing more.”

“A likely story.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “Everything I’m wearing, even that lion helm over there—we were stretched for resources and it would’ve been foolish to have the armorers make me a personal set when there were so many other things to be done.”

“And now?”

“Now?”

She scoffed, looking away from him. “We may not be drowning in sovereigns, but we can afford to commission a suit of armor for our  _military_ commander.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words. “If you feel that’s an appropriate use of resources, I would not object.”

“How generous of you.”

“Kaitlyn, I—”

“I’m not finished yet.”

He bit his tongue.

“You say that the Order is broken and has mistreated its tenant, admit that Meredith was mad and a tyrant, and yet you  _constantly_  defend those under its banner. And that doesn’t even cover what you said—what you said—!”

“What I said?” Cullen asked, voice gentle. Her hands began to tremble, fists clenched tight. Flakes of ice squeezed out between her fingers.

“ _Kirkwall_ ,” she spat. “I finished  _Tale of the Champion_. ‘Mages cannot be treated like people. They are weapons.’ Or how about ‘Mages cannot be our friends. They must always be watched.’” Her voice continued to rise but Cullen kept his face tightly under control even as his chest felt ready to cave inwardly and crush his heart. “And then there’s my personal favorite: ‘ _Templars have dominance over mages by divine right_.’”

He swallowed hard, forcing a steady calm as he asked, “Your point?”

“My point?” Her bark of laughter was bitter, choked. “So you’re not even going to deny it?”

Cullen bit his tongue. It would be so easy to lie, to spin the story.  _Those weren’t my exact words._ He could ease the truth for her, for them both; it would be such a simple thing. Varric often exaggerated for a good story. She would believe him.

“I did,” he admitted instead. He shifted one of his hands behind his back to hide the way his fingers trembled.  

“You did,” she repeated with an absent nod of her head. The anger seemed to simmer out of her as she withdrew towards the ladder. Her arms shifted to wrap defensively around herself. “And did you mean them?”

He ground his teeth together. His own words repulsed him. “I did.”

Kaitlyn retreated another step. Tears were in her voice if not her eyes. “And do you still believe that?”

“No!” He moved towards her, wanting to explain, wanting her to understand. She backed into the wall, arms up and palms pulsing with magic. He stopped cold. Agony ripped into his chest. “I would  _never_ hurt you, Kaitlyn. I would never hurt  _any_ of the mages here.”

“If you say so, Commander. But I’ll ask you to address me by my title from now on.”

“I—” He let out a low breath and watched as she continued to draw back inside herself, masking the pain and smoothing out her face with layers of indifference. “I understand, Inquisitor.”

Kaitlyn waited another moment before relaxing her body. “There are other things I want to know about Kirkwall. About what happened.”

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath as he returned to his desk, shoulders stooped and head down. “I will answer any question you put to me, Inquisitor.”

“Why did you become a templar, Cullen?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Your family were farmers in Honnleath. How did you go from that to being a templar?”

He leaned against his desk, half-sitting on it as a deep weariness settled onto his shoulders. “I wanted to protect people. I believed that’s what the templars did.”

“Protect people from mages, you mean.”

“Perhaps in part,” he admitted. “But mages need protecting too. When I was young, I saw the templars and I thought… I thought I would be helping people, protecting the innocent. The valiant knight in the old stories and all of that.”

Cullen smiled tentatively but her face remained passive and cold. Only the subtle rise and fall of her chest betrayed that she continued to breathe.

“If that’s true,” she said, “then why did you support Ser Alrik’s Tranquil Solution?”

“I did no such thing!”

“Yes, you did.” Her voice dropped, each word stabbing him in accusation. “You did nothing to stop him. You knew what he wanted to do. There was proof that he was making women Tranquil to… to make them  _pliable_ , and you did nothing. Choosing to do nothing is the same as supporting what’s happening around you.”  

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? Haven’t you expressed your own frustrations at the people who stand by and do nothing while we fight for their lives? Haven’t you berated and grumbled at nobles who weren’t willing to stand with us when we broke from the Chantry? Choosing to do nothing is still a choice and you damn well know it. Stop playing the ignorant hypocrite, Commander. It doesn’t suit you.”

Cullen ground his teeth together. His hands clenched and he took a step towards her. “It’s not the same. Everyone can see the Breach no matter where they are. There were hundreds of witnesses to Corypheus’ attack. It is a  _fact_ that the world is in danger and no one is capable of denying that. Ser Alrik was different. Yes, there was a higher rate of Tranquil than there should’ve been. But you weren’t there! You didn’t see how many abominations leaked through our fingers. I saw children torn to pieces by their own mothers, siblings turning on one another because mages were out of control. Yes!” he shouted when she opened her mouth, his own anger mounting. “Yes, I should’ve done something. I know that, Inquisitor. For years, I’ve known that and I hate myself with every passing day for how I let myself be played by Meredith and my own rage. But I  _never_ supported Alrik. I believed the whispers of his actions to be nothing more than rumors.”

“Rumors?! How could you—”

“Because every templar has rumors following them! For Andraste’s sake, for  _years_ after I left Kinloch Hold, there were rumors that I’d—that I’d raped and murdered two young mages. It wasn’t true. Not a word of it! But even now, over a decade later, there are still those who believe it to be true. So yes, Inquisitor, I believed the accusations against Ser Alrik to be rumors. I believed Meredith had nothing but the best intentions for a city already primed to tear itself apart. I believed that I was in the right, that  _templars_  were in the right. And I was wrong. I was wrong, Kaitlyn.”

“ _Inquisitor_ ,” she reminded him, the word half-hearted.

“Inquisitor,” he corrected himself. “I was wrong. The man that I became… the man that I was—he sickens me. But yes, I did say those things. I failed to help those in need. And as much as I would like to, I can never take them back.” He sighed and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Any other questions, Inquisitor?”

“Kinloch Hold.”

He stiffened at the name.

“You mentioned it in the book as well. Uldred. Lara. You were talking about them in your sleep too.”

Irritation tugged at his fingertips and crawled up his limbs until it was firmly wrapped around his spine. Cullen tried to hold back but a subtle growl leaked into his words. “That’s not a question.”

“I heard about a Ferelden circle that almost fell. The Warden found it full of blood mages and corpses. But all the templars inside had been slaughtered.”

“Not all of them.” His teeth ground and he struggled to keep his voice even. Would he never be free of that place? “ _One_ templar was kept alive for… entertainment.” He glared at her, all but daring her to say that he deserved it, to say that he’d earned the torture for what he’d done—she wouldn’t have been the first. Instead, her face softened with a sympathy that nudged her towards him until they were only a few feet apart.

“I saw the scars,” she said, eyes falling to his chest for a brief moment. “But I didn’t know that  _you_  were… I’m sorry, Cullen.”

“As am I.”

She offered a tiny ghost of a smile and he mirrored the expression. Her hands raised slightly before falling down again and he couldn’t shake the impression that, had they not been arguing moments before, she would’ve embraced him.

“Is that all, Inquisitor?”

Kaitlyn waited a moment before nodding. “Yes. For now, at least. You’ve given me a lot to consider.” She turned towards the door.

“Ser Barris was placed in charge of the templars.”

She paused before the doorway and glanced over her shoulder to him. “That’s correct.”

“May I ask why?”

“You command the Inquisition’s armies.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Cullen huffed a sharp breath through his nose. “Inquisitor!” he called when she turned again. “There’s one more matter.” He picked up one of the reports on his desk and brought it to her.

“What is it?”

“You wanted to know about your brothers. I asked Josephine for the information she had on them. Their names are Anthony and Marcus and, apparently, they’d like to meet you.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes widened as she snatched the paper from him. Her lips moved silently in the form of their names and she smiled. She looked at him, smile still in place, her gold eyes bright with hope. His heart  _ached_ at the sight of it.

“I—” she started, “I don’t know—you didn’t have— _thank you_.” She rolled it up carefully and held it close against her chest. Her smile broadened and she bit her bottom lip as though to contain the expression for herself. “Commander—”

“Yes?” He took a half-step towards her.

“I, uh, I’ve been thinking about what happened in Haven and I’d like to be trained in combat: swords, hand-to-hand, archery, all of that.”

Cullen frowned, hoping to mask his disappointment. “You seemed to handle yourself well enough. Cassandra’s been quite impressed with how quickly your skills have developed.”

“It’s not enough.” She shook her head and leaned against the doorframe. “And I didn’t handle myself well at all. Looking back at it, I’m a hundred percent certain that if Corypheus hadn’t wanted to confront me personally, I never would’ve lived long enough to have met him.”

“A chilling thought,” he murmured.

Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Since you know all the military types here, I’d appreciate it if you could pick out some specialists for me to train with once I’ve fully healed.”

He stifled the urge to nominate himself for the task. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

“Good.” She straightened and gave him a noncommittal nod that was hardly more than a shrug. “Farewell, Commander.”

Cullen watched as she walked away before shutting the door. The hinges creaked and whined and he grumbled along with them, dragging his feet towards his chair. And now she knew. Most of the truth, if not all. He groaned when his head thunked down onto his desk, cursing himself under his breath as he wished the floor would swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed it's been a particularly long time since my last update. That's because I've got my Patreon back up again. One of the benefits is that my patrons will always be a whole chapter ahead on this story compared to all other sites. There's also some exclusive fics and other cool stuff. If you're interested, you can check it out [here](https://www.patreon.com/Fatally_Procrastinating?ty=h).


	11. Chapter 11

Kaitlyn unrolled the paper Cullen had given her to read it over again. Marcus. Anthony. Her brothers. She couldn’t stop her grin. They wanted to meet her. She pressed the scroll to her chest, a giggle escaping her as she all but skipped across the battlements, her anger at the Commander shoved aside for another time.

“Sweets!”

She glanced towards the sound to find Varric waving at her near the courtyard’s portcullis. A pair of horses stood behind him, their hooves shifting across the cobblestones as their riders—hidden beneath mud-caked cloaks—relieved the mounts from their packs. A large, brown Mabari sat between the horses, tail wagging incessantly.

Kaitlyn tucked the note away and came down to Varric. Her side twinged when her foot landed too heavily on the stone and she fought the urge to press her hand against the ache. “Friends of yours, Varric?”

“You could say that.” He glanced over each shoulder before using his head to point towards the miniscule store room beside the main gate. She frowned but followed behind him. The two strangers—one several inches taller than the other—kept their faces hidden.

“Sorry about the cloak and daggers, Sweets,” he said once the four of them were inside and the door shut behind them. “I’m never sure how people are going to react.”

“React to what?”

“Me.” One of the figures—a woman, going by her voice—brought her hands up and pulled the hood away. Her features were relatively plain: brown eyes, brown hair, skin that was neither pale nor tan. She was tall—around Kaitlyn’s own height—and bore herself with a deep and relaxed confidence. Her nose was thin and slightly crooked to one side much in the same way Varric’s was. The most striking thing about her was a scar that started beneath the left side of her jaw and continued down her neck.

Kaitlyn’s mouth went dry. They’d never met in person before but Kaitlyn knew this woman from Varric’s description. This was the Champion of Kirkwall, mage and savior to many. This was Clara Hawke.

Clara smirked and her head tilted to one side. “Or  _us_ , I suppose. I’m certainly not as eye-catching as you are.”

Kaitlyn turned to her companion who had also removed their hood.

Fenris’ green eyes darted about the corners of the room before finally landing on Kaitlyn’s face. He had three white dots in the center of his forehead and she wondered vaguely if the tattoos were new or if Varric had simply left them out in his description. His white hair, brushed away from his face, was tied in a secure bun at the base of his neck. His features were a series of severe, angular lines with long, sloping cheeks and lips grimly pressed together.

“I,” Kaitlyn started, words failing her. Hawke. Hawke and Fenris.  _Here_. Something between a giggle and a scream bubbled up in her chest. She held it tight within her throat and swallowed it down, letting her cheeks warm instead. “I, uh, hello.”

Varric snickered. “Hawke, meet Sweets. Sweets, Hawke.”

“’Sweets’ is it?” Clara asked with a smile. “I’m envious. Varric still refuses to give me a nickname no matter how much I ask for one.”

“You’re Hawke. Wouldn’t feel right to call you anything else.”

“Mmhmm.” She sent him a gentle glare before turning back to Kaitlyn. “Varric tells me you’re up against Corypheus—dropped half a mountain on the bastard single-handedly.”

“I,” Kaitlyn stuttered again. Hawke.  _The_ Hawke. “Yes. Th-that’s right.”

Clara laughed. “Such a modest reply. Do you heal the sick and feed the hungry in your spare time too?”

“Um.” Kaitlyn continued to stare at her dumbly. Clara seemed to be in her mid-thirties, at most: hardly older than Kaitlyn herself. She’d known that, of course. But to see the face—to  _see_ the woman who had endured so much suffering and loss left her mute. She wanted to embrace the woman, tell her that she’d made the right decision with Carver, that she wasn’t to blame for Leandra, that she’d done her best in a city gone mad. Instead, Kaitlyn shook her head for the  _no, I don’t_ she couldn’t utter.

Clara’s smile grew, her hand going behind her Mabari’s ears for a series of scratching that made his tongue lull out of his mouth. “Varric asked me to help. I know your spymaster has been searching out the Wardens and I believe their disappearance is tied to Corypheus along with all the other madness that’s been going on.”

“I don’t understand how,” Kaitlyn said, her curiosity overpowering her caution. “In the book, it seemed as though Corypheus’ connection to the Darkspawn extended to the Wardens, but how could a Darkspawn—no matter how powerful— _control_  a Warden? Wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Clara opened her mouth, then paused. She sighed. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Carver always kept the process of becoming a Warden a secret from me, but he did hint that there was a… sacrifice involved. Perhaps whatever they give up is allowing Corypheus to influence them somehow.” She trailed off, her eyes growing distant. Fenris leaned in, lips intimately close to her ear as he whispered something. His hand slipped into hers. A moment later, Hawke nodded.

“Are you all right?” Kaitlyn asked. “Is it Carver? Is he—?”

“I don’t know where he is,” Clara said. “When the rest of the Wardens disappeared, so did he. But regardless of that, I was able to contact a Warden who I met back in Kirkwall. He didn’t give me a lot of details but he’d broken off from the rest of the Wardens; he managed to send a single letter before Varric reached out to me. I’m to meet him in Crestwood as soon as I can. I’d hoped the Inquisition might be able to help ensure his safe passage. Apparently, he’s had a tail he’s been unable to shake—it seems the other Wardens aren’t taking too kindly to his disobedience.”

“Of course we’ll help. Immediately.”

Clara stared at her a moment, glanced to Varric, then looked back at her with a grin. “Somehow, I thought you might say that. When can you leave?”

Kaitlyn blinked. She stared at the letter in her hands then shook her head. She’d waited nearly twenty years to see her brothers, a few more weeks wouldn’t hurt. “We can leave first thing tomorrow morning. That’ll give us enough time to prepare horses and provisions.”

“We’ll be ready,” Clara said. Fingers still linked with Fenris’, she turned towards the door.

“Um.” Kaitlyn stepped towards her. “Messere Hawke?”

Clara turned back with a single raised eyebrow and a subtle smirk that made Kaitlyn blush.

“It’s just that, um.” Kaitlyn floundered, the words tying up her tongue. Varric coughed and gave her a small nudge to the back. “I’m—” She tried again. “I’m sorry. About what happened to you. About everything.”

Clara stared at her for a long moment. Fenris stood behind her, a slight frown forming on his face—his eyes remained fixed on Hawke.

“Thank you,” Clara said at last before leaving with Fenris and their Mabari close behind.

Kaitlyn watched them for a moment as they pulled their hoods him and led their horses towards the stables. Then, she turned to Varric. “Merrill isn’t going to pop out of one of their bags, is she?”

“I don’t think so.” He chuckled. “But knowing Daisy, it wouldn’t surprise me if she just shows up to see how Hawke and Fenris are doing.”

She smiled as he walked away before taking a deep breath. Seeing Hawke, seeing the  _Champion_ —it made everything terrifyingly real: the stories Varric had written, her own position as leader, the spread of Corypheus’ corruption. And the burden of it all landed solely on her and the Inquisition.

Kaitlyn inspected the mark on her hand for the thousandth time as it crackled and burned. Could such a thing really be a gift from the Maker? He had let his own beloved Andraste burn, after all. Is that what it meant to be Chosen? Was she going to burn as Andraste had so many years ago?

* * *

Kaitlyn didn’t know if Cassandra was going to throttle Varric or kiss him.

Clara and Fenris had holed up in the stables with Blackwall, staying out of sight until it came time to saddle the horses for Crestwood. And now, with the entirety of the inner circle preparing to leave, Cassandra alternated between nervous glances of admiration and searing glares that could’ve sent a High Dragon scurrying for cover.

“ _You_ ,” Cassandra hissed at Varric, low enough that Kaitlyn could barely manage to hear it despite standing next to the pair. “You and I are going to share words later, dwarf.”

“As always, Seeker,” he said, “I look forward to it with bated breath.”

She scoffed and stomped away from him, her steps sharp, fists clenched as she mounted her stallion and set off ahead of the rest of the group with muttered words Kaitlyn was sure were curses.

“Is she the one you told me about, Varric?” Clara asked him as she pulled up beside him.

“She’s the one,” he said. “Did you bring them?”

Clara leaned over to one side and tugged at a ratty, old blanket covering the gear strapped to her mount.

Bull gave a long, low whistle as the blanket fell away to reveal an enormous sword and axe set. Both weapons were made of pure black metal with red sigils carved into the sides. “Those the real thing?” he asked.

“I should think so,” Clara said with a smirk. “After what it took to get them off the Arishok.”

“ _The_ Arishok?” Kaitlyn asked. She took a slight step forward but Clara was already covering them, robbing Kaitlyn of her chance to inspect the weapons for herself.

“Unless it was some other Arishok who tried to run me through with that sword, yes.”

“But why bring them here?” Kaitlyn tried to be graceful as she mounted her mare but her lack of practice combined with the stiffness of her still healing injuries left her pathetically failing through her first five or six attempts before Bull finally hoisted her up with an arm and plopped her down into her saddle. Her cheeks burned. At least the rest of them had the kindness not to laugh but instead became highly interested in the various stones that made up Skyhold. Even Hawke’s Mabari—Garahel—pressed his nose down towards his paws.

“She brought them as a bribe,” Varric said, nudging his mount forward as the lot of them began trotting forward. “They’re here so that Seeker will hack away at the bad guys instead of taking shots at my face.”

“Then why not give them to Cassandra before?”

Varric clicked his tongue. “That’s not how it works, Sweets. I have to wait until she’s  _really_ ready to knock me down. That way, when I show her what a wonderful present I have—something truly one of a kind that I know she would treasure above all else—she’ll not only back down, she’ll feel guilt for attacking me at all because if she hurts me, she might also lose the gift.”

“That’s… rather devious of you, Varric.”

He turned back and winked. “You don’t get the Carta to back off with witty one-liners and chest hair alone, Sweets.”

Clara laughed and Fenris made a sound that was midway between a snort and a scoff.

Kaitlyn eased her horse over towards Hawke. She tried to mimic the woman’s relaxed and confident posture but it only ended up making her side ache.

“So,” Kaitlyn said, “what can you tell me about the Warden we’re going to meet? You didn’t even tell me his name before.”

“I would prefer to keep that a secret.” Clara’s eyes flicked towards Blackwall. “There’s no telling who might be listening in.”

“Blackwall can be trusted.”

“Mmm.” Clara pursed her lips. “Interesting, then, how he can remain unaffected by whatever’s happening and yet have no idea what’s going on with the rest of the Wardens.”

“He’s already explained how he was looking for recruits. For all we know, they  _are_ looking for him but haven’t caught up yet.”

Clara shrugged but her expression remained detached and wary. “All the same, Inquisitor, I’d prefer to let  _him_  give his name when the time’s right.”

 _Inquisitor_. Kaitlyn made a face at the title. It felt wrong for someone like the Champion of Kirkwall to call her that. “As you wish,” she said, prompting her horse further up the line, wanting to place herself between Fenris and the back of Dorian’s head which Fenris had yet to stop glaring at. She gripped the reins tighter, shifting in the saddle, already regretting not grabbing some of the healer’s ointment.

* * *

Three days.

Three days of Fenris glaring at Dorian, muttering curses in languages Kaitlyn didn’t even recognize under his breath. Three days of Dorian ignoring Fenris’ hostile glares between private sessions with Blackwall where Dorian seemed to be pleading with him about something—that’s when Fenris  _wasn’t_ calling Cole a demon and angering Solas over his attitude towards mages, of course. Three days of Bull’s incessant snoring. Three days of Cassandra murdering Varric with her eyes and Varric shrugging it off with his usual laughter. Three days of non-stop Fade from Cole and Solas as they discussed magic and spirits in ways she’d never heard of before. Three days of Sera picking up every shiny rock she found for someone named  _Widdle_ until she needed Bull’s help to heft the bag onto her horse. Three days of mud and muck and rain that never seemed to even touch Vivienne.

Kaitlyn glared at the marker towards Crestwood village. She took a deep breath, channeling all her patience so she didn’t shatter the sign in ice. Ten more miles? She was certain half of the group would be tearing the other half apart if they had to walk ten more  _feet_  together.

“All right!” She said, her temper stretched to breaking ever since Dorian and Fenris got in an argument over his Blade of Mercy. “Cassandra, Varric—you’re coming along with Hawke, Fenris, and me to find this Warden friend of ours. Blackwall, Vivienne, Solas, Cole—go to the village to make sure everyone’s okay. Bull, Sera, Dorian… go blow something up.”

“Really?” Bull asked, all perked up, at the same time as Sera shouted, “About time!”

“ _Inquisitor_ ,” Vivienne warned.

“Don’t kill any of our allies,” Kaitlyn added over her shoulder before stomping off. Her legs hurt too badly to continue riding and she was certain another minute in that saddle would leave her permanently bow-legged. Leaning on her staff and using it more like a cane, she did her best not to hobble as she walked along the path, mentally cursing the unending rain.  _Snow_ she liked. Snow was soft and light and buried your tracks given enough time. Rain was hard and cold and soaked into everything and made your boots squelch and squish with every step as they got plastered in mud that would harden like rock later.

“Ah, just take that in,” Clara said before breathing deep. “Smells like mold and rotting fish:  _how lovely_.”

Garahel barked several times as though in agreement before rubbing his head up against Fenris’ knee which earned him a gentle scratch behind the ears. Kaitlyn watched Fenris from the corner of her eye as they walked, envy pricking her stomach when he took off his cloak and wrapped it around Clara to keep her better sheltered from the rain. The couple exchanged smiles and a light brush of the hand. How was this man the same one who had been so critical of mages on their journey? He dismissed Cole as a demon and when it came to Dorian and Solas, Kaitlyn couldn’t tell which of them Fenris hated more. And yet, with Clara—his  _mage_  lover—he was gentle and caring to the extreme. He sheltered her, ensured she was safe and content at every turn. They rarely showed physical affection around the rest of the group, but the rare touches and glances they  _did_ have were intensely intimate to the point that she often had to look away.

“We’re getting close,” Clara said, breaking Kaitlyn out of her thoughts.

Garahel’s ears had gone flat against his head. He snarled deep within his chest and his steps were measured and steady as he stalked towards the cave’s entrance.

“Down boy,” Clara whispered, commanding him to stay where he could guard their backs against intruders.

Kaitlyn slipped inside first, staff held out in front of her. Magic sparked between her fingers and ran along the wood, setting the runes alight as she crept forward, ready to throw up a shield. She glanced back to the others. Cassandra and Clara nodded as one and Kaitlyn shifted farther into the room, sliding her foot across the floor to remain as silent as possible. Her heart pounded. She took a deep breath, then held it. Another sliding step.

A faint buzzing sensation sparked across the back of her neck.

Kaitlyn slammed the end of her staff down, a barrier forming up around the party a single heartbeat before a  _Crushing Prison_ snapped into effect. Kaitlyn’s barrier resisted the brunt force of the spell but she was still driven down to one knee with a heavy grunt. Sweat beaded on her forehead and the back of her neck as it became a battle of wills between her and the other caster. Her grip tightened on her staff. Breathing grew difficult as she forced her barrier upwards, directly combating with the spell as Cassandra forced her way forward, determination fierce on her face as she similarly struggled against the weight of the spell even with Kaitlyn’s barrier in place. The Seeker closed her eyes for a brief moment, lips moving soundlessly, before she thrust her sword upwards.

A thunderous  _crack_  boomed throughout the room as both Kaitlyn’s and the other caster’s spell dissipated into harmless fizzles of energy that soon faded until nothing remained.

“Was your friend a mage?” Kaitlyn asked Clara breathlessly.

Clara shook her head, her appearance similarly strained. Varric was leaning against one of the walls, a hand on his face. Only Fenris seemed to escape relatively intact. His breathing remained even and calm, lyrium tattoos flaring to life as he walked past them all, eyes ever alert as they darted throughout the shadows, reflecting what little light there was, like a cat.

“We seek Alistair Theirin,” he announced to the dark caves beyond. “I come with Clara Hawke and the leader of the Inquisition.”

A low growl, one belonging to an animal, echoed back. Nails scraped against rocks. Kaitlyn swallowed hard as an enormous black bear with thick, shaggy fur stalked out of the shadows. The room snapped to attention. Clara leveled the end of her staff at the creature, the end sparking with magic in warning. Fenris’ Blade of Mercy glowed within his hands, revealing the powers the metal held. Bianca was tensed and ready, Varric’s finger ready on the trigger. Cassandra thrust her shield out and dropped into a defensive position. Kaitlyn still fought to regain her breath, one of her hands flying to a lyrium vial on her hip.

“All right,” a new man’s voice said. “I think it’s time that we all just calm down a little. We got off on the wrong foot but that’s no reason for us to needlessly slaughter each other, right?” His head popped around the corner. He grinned at the room, dimples visible even in the dim light. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and his hair seemed to be undecided on whether it was blond or ginger. His ears were pointed, for a human’s, which worked well with his long face and easy grin. “Right?”

He stepped around the corner revealing the Warden’s symbol on the chest of his heavy armor. Stepping closer to the bear, his hand ran naturally through the thick fur as he leaned in, whispering something into the animal’s ear. The bear huffed through its nose before shifting up onto its hind legs and then plopping down to sit the same way a person would. It shook itself, slowly at first but then gathering speed. The fur melted. There was no other word to describe it as the animal before her melted away like snow to reveal the woman beneath. Kaitlyn’s jaw fell as she stared at the mage. She’d  _heard_ of such magic, but had never seen it in person before.

The mage was lithe and short, not even reaching the man’s shoulder. She was elven but wore no Vallaslin. The armor she wore bore Griffons like the man’s though better suited for a mage. Her black skin was marked with a scar cutting over her right eye and another curling up from the left corner of her mouth. Her hair was black and shaved away on both sides. The middle section was braided and fell to one side to rest on her shoulder. Her eyes were her most striking feature—they were a light, pale blue that bordered on white.

“Now then,” the man said, clasping his hands together. “Isn’t this better? I think this is  _much_ better.”

The woman sent him a mildly disapproving look but otherwise made no comment. Glowering over Kaitlyn and the others, she tapped her hand twice against her thigh. Seconds later, a light—almost cheerful—clacking of paws on stone came around the corner as a black Mabari with grey patches trotted into sight with a staff strapped to its back. The staff was a slim thing much like its owner, but radiated power when the woman’s fingers brushed against it. Dragonbone for its main construction—pale blue like her eyes. And there was a red substance at the center. It caught the light and sparkled like rubies, only darker, like it was sucking in the light as much as it was reflecting it.

Clara stepped forward. She smiled at the male Warden. “It’s good to see you again, Alistair.”

“It’s been a long time,” he said.

“At least a city isn’t burning down around us this time.”

“Not yet, anyway,” he agreed with a grin.

Clara’s eyes darted to the woman and back. “Is this…?”

“Asala Surana,” the woman said in a Ferelden accent. “Warden-Commander.”

Kaitlyn fumbled as her staff slipped from her fingers. She caught it a few inches before it hit the floor. Her heart pounded in her ears as her head went light. Alistair Theirin. Why hadn’t that named clicked before? Her mouth went dry and she tried to swallow past the lump forming in her throat to no avail. Theirin and Surana:  _the_ Wardens. Enders of the fifth blight. The only Wardens to have ever slain an Archdemon and lived.

“Well,” Varric muttered behind her, “ _shit_.”


	12. Chapter 12

 Kaitlyn—

 

Lady Trevelyan—

I wanted to apologize for

 

Inquisitor Trevelyan—

I’ve been thinking of our last conversation and there are several things that I’d like to explain about both Kinloch Hold and the Gallows and how I

 

Inquisitor—

I hope that you are well and that your search for Hawke’s Warden friend is not proving too arduous. Skyhold is continuing to grow and revive as people of all kinds begin to gather around the gates, ready to lend what aid they can. Ser Barris recovered many of the templars who fled Therinfall Redoubt and he and Enchanter Fiona are continuing to work together better than anyone could’ve hoped for. It is not without incident, of course, but together, they’ve been able to reach an uneasy peace between the mage and templar camps.

Since you’ve left, my mind has often wondered to the last conversation we had. I know I have given you reason to doubt me and my competence but I swear to you that I am dedicated to the Inquisition and everyone under its banner, mage or otherwise. Despite anything else I may have said, I believe in you and the choices you’ve made and I continue to follow you with nothing but pride in my heart. If there is anything else you wish to know of me, you need only ask. I will not hide anything from you. I never will.

Despite the differences between us, I hope that…

that…

 

“That what?”

Cullen groaned and crumpled up the draft of the letter, tossing it aside to the growing pile of his failed attempts. He’d burn them later.

It had been nearly ten endless days since Kaitlyn had left and taken the bulk of the inner circle with her. Ten days. He ran his hands over his face and let out another low groan. It’d felt like an eternity. He must’ve scrapped over a hundred letters, but what could he say to her? Would she even open a letter that carried his name?

He stuffed his quill into the inkpot and began rubbing absently at the tips of his fingers where his skin was stained black. _Ten days_. Leliana had received a few brief missives from Cassandra, a request from Varric about his publisher, and some notes from Solas about elven artifacts he’d found, but nothing else. Nothing from _her_. He knew better than to expect a message. Kaitlyn would be occupied with her duties and the companions she’d brought. And it wasn’t as though she had any reason to report to him. But he couldn’t shake the—yearning was too strong a word for what he felt, but the desire to hear from her, to know Kaitlyn was safe, nagged at him, pulled him from his reports and books and meetings, taunting him with images of her hurt or alone.

“Commander?”

Cullen looked up, unable to fully the muster the glare he felt at being interrupted. “Yes?”

The soldier stepped forward. There was a slight tremor to her hands when she approached the desk and Cullen tried to relax the annoyance from his face. She was young—mid-twenties at most—with large brown eyes and dark blonde hair. Pretty and soft—a stark contrast to most of their recruits.

“A letter arrived for you, ser.”

Cullen straightened instantly. “From?”

“Don’t know, ser. It wasn’t marked on the outside.” She held the letter out, her pale cheeks gaining a faint pink hue. He snatched it from her. The red seal broke beneath his fingers as he hurried to unroll the parchment.

_Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen_

He blinked at the opening line as raw disappointment trickled down his spine, making him slump back down into the chair.

“Bad news, ser?”

“The worst.” He glanced up to the woman. “You’re dismissed.”

“Oh, I—yes, ser!”

Cullen waited until she was gone before returning to the letter:

_Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have heard that their fine commander survived Haven._

_We've been hearing strange things about the templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?_

_Mara, the girl Branson was courting last I wrote to you, is now his wife. They haven’t said anything to me but I suspect she’s pregnant. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if the child were to see their uncle once in a while, would it?_

_Rosalie’s living on her own now. Maker forgive me for saying it, but the fighting between the templars and mages has been good for her. It’s been months since anyone’s come around asking questions and the townspeople like her well enough that no one’s pressed her on how her crops grow so fast or so well._

_I know it's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?)_

_Mia_

Cullen laughed once and set the letter aside. It didn’t surprise him that Mia had found him—rather, it was strange that it’d taken her so long to send a letter. No matter where he’d gone, or how long he’d been silent, his big sister always found him in the end.

Branson married. And with a child on the way. Cullen slid further down his seat as the full weight of his age settled on his shoulders. Branson had been ten the last time Cullen had seen him. A boy constantly covered with scrapes and bruises and mischievous grins. _Married_.

Cullen glared at his letters to Kaitlyn and shoved them farther away from his desk with his boot. Her party was due back any day now. Better to wait and talk in person than sending a note when his words could be too easily misunderstood. Taking Mia’s letter, Cullen left his desk to walk the battlements, checking on his men and thinking of what he would write in return. Mia would only keep pestering him until he responded.

It was dark by the time he’d finished his patrols and reports enough to send a short reply to Mia. He watched the raven as it went, admiring the way its black wings caught the moonlight. He would never be used to winter in the mountains. Hardly dinnertime and yet the sun had long since disappeared.

“Raise the gate!”

Cullen glanced to the portcullis. A group of riders, well over a dozen, stood waiting on the other side. Frowning, he half-ran to the soldiers manning the gate.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“The Inquisitor,” said the nearest man.

Cullen stopped short and turned to the shadowed figures. He narrowed his eyes but failed to discern Kaitlyn from the mass of black. He stepped closer to the solider who’d spoken—an older man with greying hair and a long beard. “How do you know?”

“Because they asked me.” A blue light flared up on the other side of the portcullis as it began to rise. The light—flickering about like flame—was in Kaitlyn’s hand. She held it up to her face, illuminating her features. “I brought some allies back with me. That _is_ part of my job, isn’t it?”

Cullen’s frown deepened as he stared at her. She was smiling but the expression was strained, breaking down around the edges of her mouth. Her eyes were blown wide with something he could only call fear and she was hunched over her mount as though in pain.

“Of course,” he said. “Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

“I’m fine.” Her words were curt, hard. Maybe he should have written to her after all.

Cullen sent off some of the other guards to fetch lanterns, wanting to know who the new guests were before accepting them into the heart of the Keep. “It’s good to see you’ve all returned.”

“I’m amazed that Skyhold survived without us,” Dorian said as he slid from his mount.

“It really couldn’t have gotten much worse,” Varric muttered which earned a glare from Solas.

Vivienne tsked them softly. “The renovations are looking marvelous, darling. I’m glad to see that Josephine took my advice about that old tower.”

“Not bad,” Bull agreed. “Could use some more color though.”

Cassandra scoffed, saying how a fortress was supposed to be defendable, not pretty while she dismounted.

Cullen took one of the lamps from the soldiers as they returned, approaching the group. Four extra bodies and—Mabari? He couldn’t help but smile as the two hounds came up to him, sniffing cautiously before rubbing their heads against his legs. He petted them for a moment before straightening again and clearing his throat, cheeks warming when he caught Cole grinning at him. Cole grinning was… unsettling, to say the least.

“Barkspawn, get back here.”

Cullen turned towards the voice. Griffons gleamed in the lantern light and when his focus shifted to the Wardens’ faces, he had to blink to clear the doubt from his eyes.

“Asalla?”

“Cullen?” She leaned forward in her saddle. “It _is_ you.”

He swallowed hard, unsure if he should move closer or leave entirely. The last time he’d seen her—Maker, he shuddered just to think of what he’d said: what he’d asked her to do. H froze when she dismounted, heart hammering in anticipation as she came up to him.

“It’s been a while,” she said.

“Almost ten years now.”

“You look… tired.”

“So do you,” he said, smiling.

“Hey!” A man’s voice shouted behind her.

Asalla glanced behind her and made a dismissive wave of her hand. She stepped closer to Cullen. Her hands came, hovering for a moment, before gripping the tops of his arms. For her, the gesture was an intimate embrace. He returned the grip with his free hand and his smile grew.

“It’s good to see you again, Cullen,” she said.

“Wait,” another woman’s voice came. Cullen’s eye twitched at the sound and prayed his instincts were wrong. “ _You_ know him too?”

“He was a templar at my Circle,” Asalla said, pulling away as Hawke came stomping into his field of light.

“Well,” Hawke said, grinning, “you certainly get around a lot, don’t you, Curly.”

Cullen groaned. “Could you _please_ not call me that? Varric doing it is bad enough.”

“Curly?” Asalla asked.

“For his hair,” Hawke said. “You _must_ have seen it.”

“Could we please not—”

“I like it,” Asalla cut him off. “And you know him from…?”

“He was stationed at Kirkwall for a while. Must’ve been transferred from your Circle.”

“Ah.” Asalla sent Cullen a knowing look, heavy with sympathy. “I see. You’ll have to tell me what he was like in Kirkwall sometime, Mistress Hawke.”

“ _No_ ,” Cullen said.

Hawke laughed, head thrown back with the rich sound. “As if you could stop us, Curly. But Asalla, if you were at Kinloch Hold, did you know a Lara Amell?”

Asalla’s pale eyes widened a fraction. “… I did, yes.”

Cullen wanted to shrink in on himself when Kaitlyn joined the scene. Her eyes were somewhat glazed as she looked between the women’s faces and then back at him. She already knew so much about his past, how much more would it take before she turned away from him forever?

“Lara Amell?” Kaitlyn asked, eyes lingering on Cullen.

“My cousin,” Hawke said, her expression managed to grow somber even as she smiled. “Lara was—well, she was at Kinloch Hold when Uldred took over.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kaitlyn said while Asalla placed a hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“She was a good woman,” Asalla said. “I knew her well. She was kind and warm, a true friend.” Asalla paused before turning to Cullen. “Her passing was a terrible loss to us all.”

Hawke blinked. Her head snapped up in Cullen’s direction. “It was _Lara_ who you lost?”

“This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation,” he said, growing increasingly uncomfortable at the stares in his direction. “As it seems you’re going to be staying with us for a while, we should discuss this later, perhaps over a drink.”

“Or five,” Hawke agreed with a nod. “I’m still going to call you Curly, though.”

“All right, then.” Cullen breathed out in relief as the group began to disperse. Hawke went to Fenris’ side as the pair of them walked towards the stables. Asalla returned to the other Warden who sent a faint glare in Cullen’s direction, and Kaitlyn—was gone. “Inquisitor?” He turned around, looking about the courtyard but found no trace of her.

“Come on, Commander,” Cassandra said, her tone haggard and low as she walked up to him. “I’m utterly famished.”

“You look terrible,” he said with a smile, falling into line beside her.

“I feel it too. I’d heard stories from Leliana about Alistair before but I didn’t believe them.”

“That bad?”

“He and Varric were _always_ talking! And Dorian couldn’t leave Lady Surana alone, constantly asking her questions about the Joining and Tevinter Wardens. And Sera, _ugh_ , I will never understand where she gets all the energy from.”

Cullen smiled as she continued to talk about the arduous journey, claiming that the dragon they’d faced down was the easiest part of the entire trip. He listened with half an ear, his eyes continuing to drift to the corners of every room they passed in search for Kaitlyn. Even when dinner was called, heaping platefuls of steaming food laid onto the tables until they groaned beneath the weight, she remained absent.

Leliana embraced Asalla and Alistair both, tucking them against her, smiling more broadly than he’d ever seen. Soldiers and templars and mages all peeked around the doors to get a better look at the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden. Laughter filled the room as stories began to fly across the table of happier and harder times. Bull cheered on the two new Wardens as they out-ate and out-drank everyone else, making jokes about legendary Warden stamina that flustered Blackwall. Cassandra made a sound that _almost_ qualified as a girlish shriek as Varric and Hawke presented her with the Arishok’s blade and axe, her alcohol-ruddied cheeks glowing in the candlelight as she swung the weapons about.

And still, Kaitlyn remained absent.

Taking her empty plate, Cullen gathered what little food remained, muttering empty excuses when Josephine asked where he was going as he slinked away from the table. “Inquisitor?” he called out while he walked up the stairs of the newly finished wing. “Inquisitor, are you here?”

What if her injuries were flaring up again? Fighting a dragon was no small task. And days of riding without rest could do nearly as much damage to her body. 

“Inquisitor?” he called again when reached the final flight of stairs. A faint light burned ahead, encouraging him forwards. “You didn’t come to dinner so I brought some food for…”

Kaitlyn lay on her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, her hands resting on her stomach. Every muscle was tense and focused; her fingers tremored; her eyes were glazed and unfocused.

“ _Inquisitor?_ ”

She didn’t respond.

He tossed the tray aside on a table near the stairs and ran to her. Her skin was cold when he touched her wrist, feeling around for a pulse. The beat was heightened but steady. “Kaitlyn, can you hear me?”

Her eyes turned, one halting degree at a time, towards his face. They were blown wide with terror and when she spoke, her lips trembled. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“ _This_ ,” she said. “The Inquisition.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t _do_ this, Cullen.” She sat up and latched onto his wrist. His skin chilled under her touch as her magic pulsed in her fingers with her heartbeat. He made no protest. “Any of it. I was an idiot for thinking I could be the Inquisitor. You asked me why. I thought—Maker, I thought that I could show people that mages weren’t the monsters they feared, that I could make a difference.” Kaitlyn’s laugh was high-pitched and strained. Her eyes continued to bulge. “ _Make a difference_? How naïve is that? I’m not qualified to lead something like this. I can’t—I can’t—!”

Placing his free hand on her shoulder, he hushed her gently. “You’ve been doing an incredible job so far, better than anyone else could’ve done. It’s true!” he added when she scoffed. “Kaitlyn, I don’t think you realize how much you’ve accomplished. Delrin and Fiona are working together right now to keep everyone safe. We’ve had no possessions and no major complaints from either side. Mages and templars are managing to work together without conflict; something like that is nearly unheard of.”

“But—” She gestured towards the stairs. “But—”

“But what?”

“But it’s _the_ Champion and _the_ Warden. I can’t order people like them around. I’ve been locked away my entire life; I _still_ get excited every time I step outside on my own. Someone like me shouldn’t be ordering around people like Clara and Asalla. Maybe—” She shifted closer to him, her grip tightening on his arm. “Maybe Asalla will take over if I ask her to. She’s got more experience, and people already love her.”

“Surana serves the Wardens,” he said. “She can’t serve the Inquisition as well. And Hawke simply isn’t the type to lead a group this large.”

“But I…” She sniffed and her eyes grew heavy with unshed tears. “I’m so scared, Cullen. Before, I didn’t even think but… people are going to die because of _my_ choices. If I make a mistake, _thousands_ will pay the consequences. I don’t think I can live with that; I’m not strong like the rest of you.”

Cullen stared at her a moment. She pursed her lips, looking down at his chest as she struggled not to cry. The hand resting on her shoulder cautiously slid around to wrap around her back. He drew her closer. She trembled when he rubbed her back, her fingers tightening around his arm.

“You’re not doing it alone, Kaitlyn. It’s what your advisors are for—what _I’m_ for. You can rely on us to help you.” His hand started upwards to cup her cheek but he thought better of the gesture, continuing to rub her back instead. “I know that it’s difficult; the three of us can hardly agree on anything, but we’re here for you. Everyone in Skyhold is here to help you. You may be our leader, but you don’t carry the weight of the Inquisition alone. And you’re one about one more thing.”

Kaitlyn pulled away. Her eyes had turned red but she still hadn’t cried.

“It will never be your fault,” he said. “Every life we lose, every defeat we suffer—it’s all because of Corypheus. Him and no one else.” She looked away and he tilted his head to follow. “I mean it, Kaitlyn. The Inquisition couldn’t ask for a better leader than you.”

She searched his face through bloodshot eyes as though looking for a lie. When she found none, a tiny smile crept across her lips. “I’m sorry about this.” She let go and rubbed at her eyes instead, turning away as though in shame. “This isn’t a very responsible way to behave, is it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Inquisitor.” He stood there, fighting the urge to draw her in close to him, to kiss her forehead and tell her that he would always be there for her, that he cared about her more than he was supposed to.

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, shifting on the bed. “Your arm.”

He blinked and looked down. The skin she’d touched had turned red with frostnip. “It’s fine,” he said.

“No, it’s not. Hold still.” She moved closer began rubbing her palms together. Magic sparked between her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

“It’s fine,” he said again. But he held out his arm to her anyway. She wrapped her hands around the damaged skin. A shudder rippled through him.

“Too hot?” she asked.

“No. It’s—it’s fine.”

“I’ve never been very good at warming things up.” Another small smile touched her face. She closed her eyes and the subtle green glow of healing magic bled between her fingers. The sensation pricked and tickled his skin. It last only a moment. She turned his arm over when she was done, inspecting her work, seeming satisfied that his skin was the right color again. “Better?”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarser than he’d intended. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

She shook her head. “It was my fault to begin with.”  

He made a noncommittal sound. Her hair was loose from how she usually combed it back. The deep brown strands softened her face, making her appear younger than she was. Her fingers lingered on his arm. Would she be able to feel the way his heart quickened under her touch?

“Can I ask you something, Commander?”

“Of course.”

She shifted away and he tucked his arm into his lap, wishing the skin would stop tingling.

“What was that between you and Clara?”

“What was what?”

“ _It was Lara you lost_ ,” Kaitlyn repeated. “What did she mean?”

Cullen opened his mouth but only a low groan escaped him. He shifted to the edge of the bed, staring ahead at one of the stained-glass windows. “Once, back in Kirkwall, Hawke asked me why I felt the way I did towards mages. At the time, there were a lot of reasons—terrible reasons—for my… disposition. But I told her the main truth: blood mages had killed the woman I loved. But I never said that it was Lara. I knew they were cousins and it felt heartless to use Lara’s name around Hawke like that.”

When he closed his eyes, he could still smell the blood, feel the weight of Lara’s body in his arms, remember the words _it_ had used when it stole her face.

“I’m sorry,” Kaitlyn said. Her hand was light on his arm. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was a long time ago.” He turned to her. She squeezed him arm and then pulled away again, resting her back against the bedpost. Silence fell between them for a few moments.

“It’s funny,” she said, sounding like she was talking more to herself than to him. “Well, not _funny_ , but interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“Mages and templars. There’s such a huge divide between us and yet…” She trailed off and her cheeks darkened. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. “There was a templar I was, uh, rather fond of back at my Circle. He was the one who showed me that templars were just people—some good, some bad, some terrible, some wonderful. He was kind to me, incredibly kind, brought me books and little cakes.”

“Are you two…?”

“No. He never, um.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He never saw me in that kind of way.”

 _His loss._ Cullen kept the words behind clenched teeth.

“Where’s he now?” Cullen asked.

“Still at the Circle. Our Grand Enchanter wanted to keep the Circles in tact so when we got the news that mages were rebelling, he said that anyone who wanted to leave could do so, but that he was staying and anyone who wanted to stay with him was welcome.”

“And you stayed.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Her smile bore a lifetime of sadness. “I had nowhere else to go. I knew how to heal, a few defensive spells, but nothing I could market. And there’s so much fear around mages these days, who would hire me?” She laughed. “I suppose I could’ve been like Anders: setting up a clinic where people were too desperate to turn me away. But I’d never been on my own before and It’s… terrifying to walk away from the only life you’ve ever known.”

“It is,” Cullen said, his hand going to the pocket where he kept Branson’s coin. “Utterly terrifying.”

“Then the Conclave happened and he chose me as a representative. And here we are.”

“And here we are,” he agreed.

 _I’m glad you’re here_. He shifted towards her. _I was worried about you. You give too much of yourself_. He set his hand on the bed so it rested next to hers. _You’re stronger than you know._

Why couldn’t he say any of it? Why couldn’t he tell her how beautiful she was? Why couldn’t he—

Kaitlyn’s stomach snarled. Her cheeks burned and she pressed her arms against her belly, muttering an apology under her breath.

“Uh.” Cullen blinked. He all but jumped back onto his feet, one of his hands coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I brought some food up for you, Inquisitor, it was—” He stared at the tray he’d brought. In his haste to check on Kaitlyn, he’d tossed it onto the nearest table where it had apparently flipped over, scattering and splattering the food across the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

She laughed while she walked over to inspect the mess. “It’s all right. The room needed a bit of decoration anyway.”

He brought a hand up to his forehead to hide his face, blushing hard enough that the tips of his ears burned. _A wonderful romantic gesture, Cullen. Just smear it in her bed next time. Maybe grind it into her sheets while you’re at it._

“Cullen,” she said, her voice closer than he’d expected. She was smiling when he glanced at her between parted fingers. “It’s all right, I promise. I appreciate the thought.”

He groaned internally. People only _appreciated the thought_ when you’d messed up beyond repair. “I’ll clean it right away.”

“No, you won’t.” Her smile widened, the earlier fear vanished from her face. “I’ve taken up enough of your time tonight. And it’s not _that_ big of a mess. Well,” she teased, “it _is_ a rather epic in scale, but I think I can handle it by myself.”

“But—”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, moving closer to him. She lingered there, staring up at him. And then, her arms were around him. Her forehead rested against his shoulder as she held to him. He raised his arms. She stepped away before he could embrace her, leaving an empty, aching feeling in her wake. “Good night, Commander. And thank you.”

Cullen nodded, dazed. He stepped around the mess, almost walking into the railing as his eyes refused to look away from her. He cleared his throat, a sharp awkwardness he hadn’t felt since his youth settling into his chest. His bow felt stiff, mechanical. “… Good night, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **IMPORTANT INFORMATION**! The rewrite of this fic is nearly complete and so this will be the last update. The new version is up and the improved  _Breaking the Divide_ will be caught up to this point shortly. (this chapter was written before the rewrite so things in here may also change) [HERE IS THE LINK TO THE REMASTERED VERSION](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6006922/chapters/13794736). 

Major additions: 

\- Rylen is with the Inquisition from the beginning and has multiple scenes with Cullen. 

\- Scenes were added within Haven that explored certain areas of the camp. 

\- Scenes were added/extended for Redcliffe Castle, the dark future, the confrontation of Corypheus, and the escape from Haven. 

\- Felix stays with the Inquisition and there is more of a focus on Gereon and his actions, including his 'Sit in Judgment' scene. 

 

Alterations/Corrections: 

\- Fiona was changed to her book appearance and personality. There is heavy suggestion that blood magic was used on her to make her pliable to Alexius' demands. 

\- Lara Amell -> Miya Amell (Hawke's name may also change) 

- Non-canon mistakes were corrected. E.g. - Cole is not able to read the Inquisitor's thoughts. 

\- Minor inconsistencies and a  _lot_ of spelling and grammar mistakes were fixed. 

Thank you for reading my work and I hope you enjoy the improved story!


	13. Chapter 13

This is a reminder that this version of the story will no longer be updated. The improved version has finally been caught up and can be read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6006922/chapters/15197365). The linked chapter picks up immediately where this story leaves off (though there are minor differences in the story). Thank you again for enjoying my work. 


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